


Self Control

by ohwhatamessiam28



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Chris Evans - Fandom, Chris Evans Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Bearded Chris Evans, Cheating, College AU, Elizabeth is a fellow grad student, F/M, Graduate School, Inspired by that specific tweet series, Mackie is a Sociology Professor, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Second Person, Professor Chris Evans, RDJ is the English Department Chair, Seb is another English Professor, TA Reader, Tom is an undergrad, Well he's clean shaven at first but the beard comes out as time goes on, a generic woman to play his wife, a slow burn kinda, but it's sinning with a plot, chris evans - Freeform, it's kinda morally questionable but it's fucking hot so either way, just here to take some fucking souls and ruin some goddamn lives, nothing but sinning, y'all know which one I'm talking about
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-02-11 16:33:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12939255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwhatamessiam28/pseuds/ohwhatamessiam28
Summary: Professor Evans is a married, tenure track teacher at a small liberal arts university with an esteemed English department. You’ve just began your first year of graduate school, and have been assigned as the teaching assistant for his Brit Lit class. Unexpectedly, you two have undeniable chemistry, but having an affair with your married boss can only spell trouble for you both.College AU - Will feature brief mentions or exchanges with other Marvel actors as teachers or staff at the university as well. Is definitely, super duper, NSFW. This is inspired by those tweets.Chris Evans looks like the professor who'd cheat on his wife with you and then write a New Yorker story/novel about it to revive his career.pic.twitter.com/wPgJwgJ7fm— Brandon (@brandonlgtaylor)March 15, 2017





	1. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first class together. As my beta put it, “Enter Captain Dorito, stage right.”

Playlist for entire fic:

You stood outside the wooden doors of the small lecture hall your next class would be in. Playing with your phone in an attempt to make the time pass quicker, you noticed as students started to fill in around you. They paid no more than a glance of attention your way, assuming you were just another undergrad before moving on. This wasn’t a class you were attending though, this was the first class you were a teaching assistant for in your graduate program.

Sure, you’d TA’d a couple classes your senior year of undergrad, and everything had gone smoothly then, but this was a much smaller and more competitive program than you’d been involved with before. The faculty in this English department alone were some of the most prominent names in academic writing, while others were highly anticipated up and comers in the fiction world. Although you’d originally applied to assist in an introductory fiction writing course, to your dismay you’d been asked by the chair of the department, Professor Downey, to assist one of their newer faculty members with their Survey of British Literature course. Professor Downey, who begged you to call him Robert, had swore he’d tried to find you a TA position in a creative writing class, but when the spots were already filled by other grad students that were further along in their studies, he’d offered you the next best thing.

Professor Chris Evans was currently the new darling of the department, having taught several writing courses in his first year, as well as publishing three award winning short stories within that time. And as the department needed an instructor for their second introductory Brit Lit class that semester, they’d decided to push more responsibility on him in his second year, and had him fill the spot. He wasn’t known as a lit professor, but “Robert” had complete faith in him, and even more faith that he could help you find your place among the English department.

The class before yours seemed to be using every second of their allotted time, and you felt your heel bounce in anticipation. Professor Evans and you had been emailing back and forth for a week, but you two hadn’t met yet. Rumors swirled from a few of the other grad students, and the consensus was that he was ridiculously attractive. Many swore he could be an actor or model if writing didn’t work out. And as tempted as you were to google him, you used all your self control to wait to see him in person.

When the instructor of the class before yours finally dismisses her students, you back away from the doors in just enough to time to not get mowed down by the rushing undergrads. You enter the room first, leading in the wave of students in your class. You always hated sitting up front in any class, but TAs either sat at a separate desk in the back or in a front row. This intro to Brit Lit class was taking place in a small lecture hall with plastic seats and wooden, swinging desk arms, so you had to sit up front.

You opt for the seat against the wall on the front row, and you dig in your bag for the attendance roster, as well as your laptop. Students talk enthusiastically as they settle in behind you, and you try your best not to stare at the door in anticipation for Prof. Evans’ arrival. You skim the last email you’d exchanged with him, checking that you’d printed enough of his syllabi and assignment sheets for the class.

The second he pushes through the wooden doors, the roar of students quiet. Your fingers fidget against the corner of the desk as you keep your back to the entrance. Whispers and murmurs are exchanged by the students as he makes his way down the aisle. He steps onto the small stage at the front of the class, and you catch your first glimpse of him. His brown hair is slicked back, and his shoulder to hip ratio alone nearly forces a groan from your throat. No one’s shoulders should be that broad compared to the rest of their body.

He's wearing a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of dark gray slacks that hugs his ass just perfectly. He turns to face the class as he pulls a flash drive from his bag and you try not to stare openly. He's clean shaven, showing off his jawline and cheekbones, and his cornflower blue eyes appear intense even from afar.

Every rumor had very clearly been true.

After setting up his presentation for the class he looks up at the room, his gaze bouncing over the students. You drop your stare immediately and act like you're preoccupied with something in your bag. Although you try your best at appearing to not watch him, you can still see him searching the room from the corner of your eye.

Eventually his gaze settles on you and you glance up from your desk to meet his eyes. A small smirk spreads across his lips as he takes a step back from the podium and points your way. You give him a little nod as you push out of your seat, and a full grin breaks out across his lips. If your hand hadn’t been clutching the edge of the desk, your weak knees might have caused you to fall.

As you approach him, he takes two large strides toward you and sticks his hand out. “(Y/N)?” he asks with raised brows as you reach him.

“Uh,” you begin as you slip your own hand in his and shake it. You try your best to form words but his eyes are even deeper up close, and you feel like drowning in them. You blink twice, mentally berating yourself, before nodding your head, “Um, yes. I’m (Y/N).”

“It’s great to finally meet you,” he says as an easy smile pulls on his lips. He places his other hand over your joined ones, and just for a second you let him hold your hand in his. Already feeling the heat of anxiety or attraction rising in your chest, you pull back from his grasp and tuck your hand in your back pocket.

“Uh, you too,” you smile politely back at him.

“I’ve been listening to Robert talk about how excited he is to have us work together, for weeks now,” he begins as he drops his hands to his sides and moves back to his podium. You follow him and try your best to pay attention to his words, and not his pouty bottom lip as he speaks. “He hasn’t shut up about how good your writing is since he picked you to TA, and he can’t wait to see how much you’ll progress by the end of the semester.”

Prof. Evans places an elbow against the edge of the podium as he turns back to you. There is something so casual about how he speaks and holds himself, like he considered you an equal and not a graduate student.

“Yeah,” you chuckle nervously. “He hasn’t stopped sending me your published stories since I first met with him to talk about TA-ing.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry about that,” his eyes crinkle as he shrugs bashfully.

“No, no, it’s okay. Robert’s just really proud of what you’ve done, and I’ve enjoyed everything he’s sent me.”

“Really?” he asks, as he raises his brows. You nod at him and he lets out a sigh of relief with a smile. “I’m happy to hear that, we’ll have to talk more about writing then.”

You glance at your phone realizing class starts in a minute. “That sounds nice,” you smile sincerely, feeling nerves already boiling in your stomach at the thought of this beautiful and talented specimen reading anything you’ve written. “Um, I’m gonna go pass out the syllabus and assignment sheets,” you say taking a step back from Prof. Evans and pointing over your shoulder.

“Oh yeah,” he says straightening up and realizing the time. “Of course,” he agrees quietly as he brings his presentation up on the projector.

You turn your back on him to find the entire lecture hall full of students, and their eyes are all on you two. You take a deep breath and try to ignore the flush starting in your cheeks.

This was clearly going to be an interesting semester.

* * *

As the first Brit Lit class came to an end, you move to gather all the assignment sheets you would have to grade for attendance. A couple students approach you to introduce themselves and you greet them warmly but professionally, telling them if they have questions or need help with anything, that your office hours are listed in the syllabus or they can email you at any time.

Prof. Evans is swamped with many more students wanting to shake his hand and speak with him. You decide to just pack up your things and head out, and maybe give him a short wave goodbye. As you make it back to your seat and place all the assignment sheets in your folder, you feel a gentle brush against your arm. You glance over your shoulder to find Prof. Evans standing behind you with his phone in hand. After you slide the folder into your bag you turn to face him, noticing three students still waiting to speak to him at the podium.

“Hey, great first class,” he starts politely. “Can I get your number?”

You blink for moment, trying to control your shock. You always had instructors’ phone numbers in case you had to get a hold of them at a weird time, but none ever asked for yours.

“I don’t check my email often enough, so this will be the best way for us to get in contact,” he explains as he lifts his phone to you.

“Sure,” you manage to nod before taking his phone from him and entering your name and number in his contacts. As you hand it back to him, he breaks out in a grin.

“Awesome, thanks,” he says as one of his hands brushes your elbow gently.

“No problem,” you respond, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your skin that radiates from where he just touched you.

“I’ll see you Thursday,” he says as he moves toward the podium, his smile never faltering. You nod at him and turn back to your bag, already feeling butterflies tickling your stomach.

This man is going to be trouble for you.


	2. Bad Behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You spend an evening grading papers together, what else could happen? Not NSFW, yet.

Two weeks into the semester, Prof. Evans had the Brit Lit class turn in their first papers on Milton’s  _Paradise Lost_. You two had decided to split the grading evenly, and as you begin reading your 4th paper, your phone beeps. You clip your pen to where you stop reading and reach for your phone. A smirk tugs at your lips as you realize who the message is from.

Professor Chris Evans.

The message asks if you’ve gotten through any of the papers yet, and you chew on your bottom lip as you type,  _Only a few_. You stare at your phone for another few seconds before placing it to the side and reaching for the paper. As you unclip your pen, your phone beeps again. You drop your pen and turn to your phone.

 _I’ve barely gotten through 2_ , he wrote in response. You hesitate, unsure if texting your boss like this is appropriate. After another moment you type,  _Milton not doing it for ya?_  This time you keep your phone in hand as you watch the message bubble with 3 dots.  _Nah, I like reading both Milton and these papers out loud. It sounds different. Better._

You feel the smile push your cheeks up, and respond quickly this time.  _So read them out loud then._  You wait longer this time, the message bubble appearing, disappearing, and then appearing again.  _Are you free tomorrow night?_  Curiosity rushes through your veins and you begin to type when another text comes up.  _I know it’s a Friday night and you probably have better things to do than grade papers together, but I figured I’d ask._

Was it professional to spend an evening with your boss, grading papers? Sure, you’d become more comfortable with Prof. Evans in the last couple weeks, and you’d gotten to know him better. But was this okay? Spending time with him outside of class? Becoming friends? You weren’t sure if you could call it friendship, but whatever your working relationship had become, it felt friendly.

You type out your response slowly, contemplating each word.  _I was already planning on spending tomorrow night grading papers, so I’m available._  His response comes immediately,  _Great! How about you stop by my office around 5pm?_  You wait a minute before typing out your own response so you won’t seem too excited.  _Sure, see you then._

* * *

The English department is on the third floor of an ornate stone building that sits on the East side of campus. The first floor houses the classics department, and the second floor belongs to the theatre department’s staff. You climb the wooden stairs, glancing at your phone to check the time. 4:55 pm. You were the slightest bit early, and Prof. Evans still had office hours for another five minutes. You wait in the sitting area just past the secretary desk.

Your undergrad English department was made of tiny, dusty, gray offices and a waiting area of crappy plastic chairs. This department has oversized leather furniture and beautiful wooden tables. This is the kind of place you could nap at between classes. You wait until your phone reads 4:59 pm to get up to knock on his door.

As you reach his office, you see movement behind the textured glass pane, and Prof. Evans opens the door quickly. You give him a polite smile, letting out a quiet “Hi” before you notice a student sitting in the chair across from his desk. As you glance back at Prof. Evans he gives you an apologetic grin and you begin to step back from the door.

“No, no, come on in,” Prof. Evans instructs, reaching a hand out behind you to usher you into the room. “We were just about to finish up.”

You glance over at the student to find him staring at you with an amused expression. “Uh hi, Steven? Right?” you ask, and a smile turns up the corners of his mouth.

“You remembered,” he says quietly as he nods.

“I do my best,” you answer as you move past his seat to the leather couch that sits in the corner of Prof. Evans office. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Steven turns to you, “Oh, you’re not interrupting at all. In fact, I was about to email you.”

Prof. Evans sits back down in his seat and turns to you, “Mr. Brighton was hoping we’d be kind enough to give him an extension on his next paper. The day it’s due he’s going to be out of town for a sports event, so he’d like another two days to turn it in.”

“Is it a school sanctioned sports event?” you ask, glancing at Steven.

“No,” he mutters.

“Then I would say no, you should finish your paper before you need to leave for the event. Unless it’s an emergency, illness, or a school sanctioned excuse, complete the assignment early,” you say as you turn to Prof Evans. He's trying to control a smile. “And what did you tell him?”

“The exact same thing,” Prof. Evans nods.

Steven lets out a deep sigh before picking up his bag, “Uh, okay.” He pushes himself out of his seat and opens the door, “Thanks anyway.”

As the door closes, Prof. Evans turns to you and lets out a musical laugh. You allow yourself to giggle with him. “I wrote exactly that in the syllabus!” he adds as he grins. “Sometimes I just don’t get these kids.”

“We were those kids not that long ago,” you joke as you unzip your bag.

“Speak for yourself! I never asked for an extension for any reason,” he retorts as he bends over and digs in his desk draw. When he looks up at you from under his lashes, you swear your heart skips a beat.

“I never asked for an extension either,” you answer, as you pull out your grading folder and cross your legs. “But ya know, we’re working for an elite school. The students who attend here are most likely rather privileged, and expect us to conform to their privilege.”

“You’re not wrong,” Prof. Evans nods, staring at you intently, his blue eyes appearing even darker in his office’s low lighting. You mentally remind yourself that this is your boss, your married boss, and that no matter how blue his eyes are or how soft his lips look, you need to fit into this department.

You two grow quiet, and you drop your gaze to his desk. “So, uh, where would you like to begin Prof. Evans?” you ask, trying to move the evening along.

“Oh god, please call me Chris,” he responds quickly. “I hate being called professor, I only allow my students to call me that because it’s a respect thing, I guess.”

You nod at him, trying to stop the smile from reaching your lips. “Oh okay Chris, then where would you like to start?”

* * *

Two hours into your grading system, where one of you reads a paper out loud and then you both give feedback, Chris gets hungry. “I’ll wither away if I don’t eat. I’m ordering pizza, what would you like?” You sit up from your stretched out position on his couch and watch him take his feet off his desk while he fishes out a delivery flyer.

You weren’t sure how to respond, letting your boss buy you dinner didn’t sound very professional. But you reminded yourself that you were becoming friends, and friends let other friends buy them food. “Um, sure. I’m a cheese pizza lover.”

“Classic, I like it,” he smiles as he picks up his phone to call.

As you push yourself up to reach for your bag you notice the folded blanket and pillow that sits behind Chris’s desk. You shrug it off as you pull out your wallet and find a few bucks. You drop your money on his desk and go back to your relaxed position, skimming the paper you were reading next.

Chris hangs up the phone and huffs at you, “No, you’re wasting your Friday night keeping me company. The least I can do is buy you food.” He picks up the cash and tosses it at you.

“Then it can be the tip!”

“No, keep your money.”

“Chris,” you sigh deeply and jut out your bottom lip. He remains silent, watching you with a narrowed gaze, and you tuck the money in your pocket. When you look up, a charming smirk tugs a corner of his mouth up. He's watching you pout, his features beautiful and his expression nearly suggestive, and you feel a flush crawl up your skin. You roll your eyes and lean back on the couch.

You can feel his eyes still on you, but you lift the paper to block your sight of him and begin reading.

* * *

It was midnight as you two finished reading the last paper out loud. You were laying upside down, with your legs propped on the back of the couch and your head dangling past the seat. Chris had moved to the chair in front of his desk after dinner, and he currently had both of his feet propped up on the seat next to your head. You’d both grown restless during the evening and had moved around the office.

As Chris wrote his last comment on the last student’s paper, you cheered him on. Being upside down meant all the blood that rushed to your head could cover up your blushing. But that didn’t stop the blood in your veins from warming whenever he looked at you with a smirk or with heavy lidded eyes. You twist your legs to the side, nearly crashing into his feet, and he laughs as you push your dizzy self up.

“Need help?” he asks, reaching a hand out to your elbow to steady you. You stand on shaky legs and shake your head, but his hand remains on you. You stare at it and then back at him, silently asking for him to let go, but your heart races from the contact alone. You don't want his hand to leave, but he removes it so you can reach for your folder.

You two clean up his office, and as you drop the pizza boxes in his trash can, you notice a suitcase hidden under his desk. Instead of dwelling on it, you collect the graded papers and place them in your bag.

Chris puts together his messenger bag on his desk, glancing up at you every few seconds. “I’d say this was a successful night of grading,” he starts. “We’ll have to do it again in a couple weeks, when the next paper is due.”

You zip up your bag, keeping your back to him as you feel a grin spread on your lips. Heaving the bag on your shoulder, you turn to him, “We will.”

He gives you a smile and a nod as you head for the door. “Thanks for spending the evening with me. Whenever I read anything that’s not creative writing, I can’t seem to concentrate, which is a horrible attribute for a literature professor.”

“But the English department needed you,” you say teasingly as you open the door and lean against its frame.

“They did,” he grins and chuckles as he pulls his keys from his bag. You hold the door open for him, watching as he places his bag over his broad shoulders. “Would you like me to walk you to your car?”

“Nah, I’ll be okay. 

He steps into the doorway with you, hesitating as he flips for the right key. “Are you sure?” he asks, looking up at you from under his long lashes. You almost let out a small gasp at the sight and butterflies tickles your stomach.

“I have my keys and pepper spray. I’ll manage,” you assure him. He flicks off his office lights and as he pulls his arm out, you let the door go. His elbow knocks against its wood and he lets out a soft ‘ow’. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you apologize as you reach for his arm.

“It’s okay, I promise,” he laughs as his hand grips your wrist in the darkness. The only light comes from the hallway at the end of the corridor. “It’s been a little while since I’ve fumbled around in the dark.”

“Oh, I do it at least once a week,” you joke, but you're acutely aware that his fingers have left sparks running over your skin. His keys jingle as he closes the door and locks it, and you begin to step away when Chris’s hand trails against your forearm, keeping you there.

His keys jingle once more before you feel his fingers caress your cheek. The warmth of his skin and the scent of his cologne grows closer to you, and your heart is in your throat. You reach out for his biceps as he leans into you, resting his forehead against yours. His fingertips trace your bottom lip, and you close your eyes, praying you won’t melt on the spot.

His breath tickles your cheek as you turn your head away. What were you doing? This is your boss. Your  _married_  boss.

His fingers bring your lips to his, and they brush so gently, you could swear you were imagining it. His lips open the slightest bit, inviting you to kiss him, to make a move. And you desperately want to. You want him pressed against you, his lips hot on your neck, but as those thoughts cross your mind, you knew this was wrong.

You drop your hands from him and take a step back quickly, “Chr-, Chris. We can’t do this.”

He lets out a sigh, releasing you, and whispers, “I know.”

You inch away from him, your body immediately regretting your decision. “Have a good night,” you manage as you walk past him and toward the exit sign.


	3. Casual Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You attend the English department’s dinner, where you meet a few fellow colleagues and Chris’ wife. A comment my beta left me was “Okay three seems super aggressive for the first time they do this.” But I’m gonna leave that up to y’all to decide. THIS IS SUPER NSFW, and I edited this to be even smuttier than it originally was on Tumblr.

It was Thursday night of the third week of classes, and Prof. Downey had strongly recommended you attend the English Department’s dinner at his house. It was his way of kicking off the new semester, and getting new and old colleagues introduced to each other. You really hadn’t planned on attending, but one of your fellow grad students swore that all the graduate TAs attended to get to know their current or future, bosses and coworkers better.

Arriving at at Prof. Downey’s house five minutes before the evening would officially begin, you waited in your car for a few minutes to breathe and calm your nerves.  

These were your colleagues and advisors. There was no need for you to be nervous or worried. But you reminded yourself that wasn’t completely correct. Prof. Evans and his wife were supposed to attend tonight, and after your shared moment of intimacy outside his office, you weren’t sure if you could handle meeting her. You’d felt so badly about the incident that you’d barely spoken to Chris except for discussing class assignments and grades.

You take your last breath in before getting out of your car, your small clutch and favorite bottle of red wine in hand. You only get to knock on Prof. Downey’s intricate wooden door once before it swings open. Prof. Downey greets you with a grin and a dramatic wave for you to enter, “Come on in, (Y/N)!” You smile back politely, lifting your wine bottle towards him. “Oh thank you, but you should keep that.”

“Robert really needs to put ‘bring your own booze’ on his invites,” a man chuckles from inside the room. His dark blue eyes meet yours as you step into the house.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N). She’s the new grad student who’s TA-ing for Chris,” Prof. Downey announces after he shuts the front door. “(Y/N), the snarky bastard who always brings enough alcohol for everyone is Professor Stan.”

You twitch your fingers, waving to him. “Robert, you know I prefer Seb, or if we’re being formal, Sebastian,” the man in a navy suit waves Prof. Downey off. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he says warmly with a crooked smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“And this is Professor Mackie, who doesn’t actually belong at this dinner, or even in the English department, considering he’s a sociology professor,” Prof. Downey says, rolling his eyes as he passes the leather couch the two men are sitting on.

“And I prefer to be called Dr. Mackie, since I did all the damn work to get a Ph.D.,” the man in a gray suit jacket smirks, giving you a polite nod before glaring at Prof. Downey.

“Wherever Prof. Stan seems to go, Dr. Mackie appears to follow,” Prof. Downey shrugs.

“Sebastian,” Prof. Stan reminds him.

Prof. Downey shakes his head at Sebastian and moves onto the woman sitting in the arm chair across from the couch, “And as you may know already, this is Elizabeth Olsen, a third year grad student.”

“Hi Elizabeth,” you say, giving her a small smile and a nervous look. You actually have met her twice.

“Hey (Y/N),” she smiles back before pointing at your wine bottle. “What do you have there?”

“Uh, just a Merlot I had in my apartment. I hadn’t really planned on coming tonight, but I couldn’t say no to Prof. Downey’s invite.”

“It’s Robert, dear,” Prof. Downey reminds you.

“I just couldn’t turn Robert down,” you correct yourself.

“Better,” he smiles at you. You hand him the bottle and take a seat next to Elizabeth.

“You’ll learn this is a very informal group,” Dr. Mackie reassures.

Sebastian nods in agreement, “Yes, this may be the only department that not only allows you to drink at all its events, but actively encourages it.”

Well this was going to be an interesting night.

* * *

6 more professors, including Chris, and 5 more grad students show up before dinner. Robert made sure to bring you a glass of wine to help you relax, he could tell that you aren’t quite sure where you fit in the department yet. He whispers a few words of encouragement to you before dinner starts, “Be yourself (Y/N), you’ll find your place here by staying true to your wants and interests.”

Chris’s wife, Jennifer, does very little as the night goes on. She barely says hi before finding the kitchen and pouring herself a drink. And that drink is followed by several more. She speaks to Sebastian, Robert's wife Susan, and one of the other grad students during the evening, and when dinner finally begins, she barely pokes at her food.

You somehow end up sitting between Susan and Sebastian, with Jennifer, Chris, and Dr. Mackie directly across from you three. You make sure to quietly praise Susan’s food, and her gentle smile and squeeze on your wrist feels maternal. Sitting at their long wooden table, you can tell Robert and her are the parents of this group, and although the department squabbles, they all genuinely seem to care about each other.

They are a family, and you're lucky to be welcomed into it.

Robert ends up asking the instructors at the table how their classes are going, and you listen quietly but enthusiastically as you work on your third glass of wine. When the question reachs Chris, you drop your hands in your lap and avert your eyes.

“It’s been going really well,” he starts, taking a swig of his beer. “The writing courses have been smooth, and the literature course has been much easier than I’d anticipated. But I have (Y/N) to thank for that.” Your eyes dart up at him cautiously as you take another sip of wine. Jennifer raises her gaze from the table for the first time since the food was served.

“Oh, (Y/N)’s been helpful?” Robert asks, giving you a knowing glance that says he knew you’d be great.

“Quite helpful actually. I’d say she almost has a better grip on the literature than I do, and she’s great at looking at the pieces through different perspectives,” Chris continues, and you can feel his eyes watching you, but you drop your gaze back to your plate. A flush creeps up your cheeks, but you tell yourself it's just in response to the alcohol.

“If (Y/N)’s good with literature then I might have to request a new TA next semester, Robert,” Sebastian says next to you. You glance up to catch him watching you closely. His dark blue eyes meet yours and you could swear you turn to jelly on the spot.

“Literature isn’t really my thing, but when Prof. Downey-,” you begin. Prof. Downey’s fork scrapes loudly against his plate. “Well uh, when Robert asked if I was willing to help, I figured I’d make it work.”

“So what is it you prefer to do then, (Y/N)?” Sebastian asks with a small smirk as he angles his body toward yours.

“She’s a writer,” Chris cuts in.

“And quite a good one,” Robert adds. Their voices pull you back from your tunnel vision on Sebastian, but you could stare at that man all day. “I was actually going to ask if she’d be interested in submitting anything for publication this semester,” Robert continues, and you turn to find him watching you with a look of caution.

“Uh, I actually haven’t written anything in awhile, but I’m sure I could put something together,” you answer, nodding his way slowly.

“Excellent.”

* * *

After dinner, part of the department left and the other part found their way back to the living room with their drinks in hand. You thought Chris would leave based on how uncomfortable Jennifer had been all night, and how quickly she found an escape. Yet, even after she pulled him aside to speak in hushed tones, she kissed him on the cheek, and threw a goodbye over her shoulder. Chris seemed to shrug it off and took a spot on the couch. You ended up sharing a loveseat with Elizabeth who’d been giggling and whispering to you after her fourth glass of wine.

Conversation had turned to current students and you felt like you were sitting in an inner circle of powerful people. Sure, discussing how annoying or talented certain students seemed was kinda unprofessional, but the evening was so informal that it didn’t matter.

“There’s been one kid that wanted an extension weeks before the due date,” Chris offers to the group, “but all the rest are relatively average. Few bother to stop by office hours or contact me.”

“I’ve had a couple stop by my hours,” you cut in, feeling your fourth glass of wine kick in. “There’s this one kid, uh, Tom, he’s really sweet. He’s had a lot of questions about the literature. He’s stopped by my office a couple times and emails me questions too.”

“Oh yeah, his last paper was pretty good,” Chris nods at you.

“Sounds like someone might have a crush on you,” Sebastian cuts in, nearly singing the words to you. Closing your mouth quickly, you sit up a little straighter, unsure of what's going on. Sebastian’s eyes are zoned in on you and you try not to stare back at him but it's nearly impossible. “But I don’t think you can really blame the kid.”

“Prof. Stan, don’t make me send you down to HR to see Scarlett,” Robert warns.

Sebastian lets out a sigh as he turns to Robert, “It’s Seb! And I doubt Scarlett would have anything positive to say about our present environment, RDJ.”

You avert your eyes from their tiff and find Chris watching you with narrowed eyes. “Alright boys,” Susan breaks in. Sebastian throws his hands up in forfeit and finishes his drink.

“He likes you,” Elizabeth snickers as she grips your wrist.

You turn to her with confusion etched in your features, “What?”

“He likes you,” she whispers quietly this time.

“Who?”

“Um,” she starts before glancing back at the couch Sebastian and Chris are sitting on, “Both of them, I think.”

* * *

The night came to a close after everyone had attempted to sober up, called a cab, or announced they were crashing in Robert’s guest rooms. You tell Robert you aren’t comfortable driving but you need to go back to your office to pick up some assignment to grade, so he lets you leave after you promise to call a cab.

You hug Susan and Elizabeth, and tell everyone still in the house goodnight. As you start down Robert’s driveway, heavy foot fall comes up behind you. “Hey, (Y/N),” Chris calls, catching up with you. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’m actually going to my office,” you answer, keeping your back to him. “And I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“You’re a beautiful woman who’s intoxicated walking around campus at night, you definitely need someone to walk with,” he responds, moving in front of you.

You pause on the sidewalk, staring at him skeptically, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You can think this is as unnecessary as you want but I’m going to follow you until you get somewhere safely. I can’t have anything happening to my best TA,” he says quietly, but a cheery tone creeps into his voice. You let out a sigh and start back down the sidewalk. “Good,” he chuckles as he follows, “I haven’t gotten a chance to speak with you in a while.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“(Y/N),” Chris pauses, tugging on your wrist. “You’re not still worried about what happened at my office?”

You tug your wrist away from him and speed up your pace, “It was inappropriate, and I don’t want another incident like that to jeopardize our careers.”

Chris continues to follow you as you turn down another street. “I’m sorry.” You cross the street and keep walking. “I really am (Y/N),” he calls as he steps into the street. You glance over your shoulder to find him having to stand back for a car to pass. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, and it was inappropriate.”

You nod to yourself, cross your arms over your chest, and keep walking. He catches up with you as you step onto campus, “But just because we can’t be involved, doesn’t mean you can’t see Sebastian.”

“What?” you ask, stopping your tracks. “Why would you even say that?”

Chris scoffs, “I saw how you looked at him.” You glare at him but stay frozen. “And he definitely likes you.”

“Yet again, that was inappropriate,” you start as you point at Chris. “And I just met him! I don’t even know him!” You jab Chris in the chest before you start to move past him.

His hand wraps around your own, pulling you to a stop, “I’m sorry, I know. It’s just, he’s a good friend of mine and he’s not married.” His hand leaves yours as you make eye contact with him, and you feel nerves of attraction tickle your stomach. “Sure, he always likes grad students, but I want you to be happy.”

His baby blues hold yours and you wish you had more self control, because you can't look away. “I-, I appreciate that but my private life is my private life.”

“I know,” he nods, finally dropping his gaze back to the ground.

It takes you another moment to gather yourself, but you begin walking again, pulling your keys from your bag. “By the way, Jennifer seems really nice,” you comment, desperately trying to remind yourself this man is married.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Is she always that quiet?” you ask as you began climbing a set of stairs, your heels clicking against the cement.

“Um, not generally. She just didn’t want to be there tonight,” Chris answers and you glance over your shoulder to look at him. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his face looks sad. “Actually, she doesn’t really want to be anywhere with me.” You hesitated on the top step, unsure of what that meant. “We’ve been separated for a month.”

You turn your body to face him, suddenly feeling bad about rejecting him so harshly. “I’m sorry Chris, I-, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he shakes his head. “I’ve actually been sleeping on the couch in my office a few nights a week.”

“That’s really shitty,” you whisper as you continue down the sidewalk. The solid cement turns into uneven brick. You cross your arms again and try to walk carefully.

“We really haven’t told anyone yet. Robert doesn’t even know, so we came together tonight to keep him from asking questions.”

“Susan knows,” you cut in, watching him as you kept walking.

“How-,” he begins, but shakes his head. “Nevermind, that woman knows everything.”

“She reads a room really well.” You glance up to see the English department’s building ahead and as you step over another dip in the bricks, your heel get caught in a groove.

Chris reaches out in enough time to catch your titled form, and he pulls you into his chest. Your hands grip his arms as you look down to unwedge your heel, but his arms don’t loosen from around your waist. As you look up at him, you feel your breath leave your body. His hooded eyes watch you closely, as if he's never been this close to you before.

Your fingers squeeze his arms for a moment, wishing you could put more distance between yourself and the warmth of his body. “This might be wrong for me to say, but I really like you (Y/N). And I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

As his face comes closer to yours, you wish you were any other two people so you could be together. And as your eyes close, his lips meet yours gently, waiting for your reaction. Your hands wrap around the back of his arms, keeping him pressed to you as you mold your lips against his. A tingle trails down your spine and the butterflies in your stomach seems to spread throughout your entire body. Hands slip down to your hips as your lips part, and his eyes watch you closely. You stare back in awe, your body warming against his.

“I-, I-,” you begin when Chris finally lets go of you.

“I’m sorry, you don’t need to-,” he cuts you off as he begins to move toward the building.

“No,” you whisper, your hand tugging on his wrist. “I want this.”

He pauses, looking at you apologetically, “You don’t have to say that.”

“No Chris,” you shake your head as you brush your fingers against his cheek. You straighten your spine, knowing you’ll regret this one day, but not tonight. “Goddammit, I want this.”

A smile tugs on his lips and his arms wrap around you, lifting you off the ground. You giggle into his ear, your arms resting on his shoulders as he carries you into the building. As the door closes, he presses you against the wall, and his mouth meets yours with more urgency. You trail your fingers up to the nape of his neck and tug on his hair as you open your lips. He moans into your mouth, and you smile against his. You already found one of his sweet spots. Hands roam down your waist as you arch your body into his, and trace his lower lip with your tongue.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to instruct you to jump, and you do just as he asks. Wrapping your legs around him, your lips meet clumsily as his hands hold you to him. You laugh against his cheek and brace yourself on his shoulders as he carries you up the stairs.

When you finally reach the English department, he rests you against the wall as his hands slide under your blazer. You help him pull it off as he carries you to the leather couch. Laying you down gently, your mouths reconnect, and you slide your hands under his suit jacket. Your fingers trace over his abs, causing him to chuckle against your lips. His thigh pushes between your legs as he interlockes your fingers with his and pins you to the couch. His tongue teases your own as his knee brushes against your underwear, touching you right where you want him to. A nearly pornographic moan escapes your mouth, and he pulls back.

"You like that, huh?" he asks, a devilish smirk accompanying his heavy-lidded eyes. You bite your lip and nod. He grinds his leg against you, pulling a whimper from your throat and his smile becomes a toothy grin. "All these beautiful noises from this beautiful mouth," he says as a hand caresses your cheek before tracing your lip, "they're divine."

You two become a mess of friction, heat, and moans until you hear a door open. You grab him quickly, pulling him onto you as you see someone exit an office near the department’s entrance.

“What?” he starts to ask but you shush him quickly.

“Janitor,” you whisper near his ear, and he turns his head to see a man pushing a cart down the hall. He starts laughing but you cover his mouth with your hand as you stare at him with wide eyes. You two stay frozen until the English department’s door slams shut. Chris lets out a loud laugh as he drop his head on your chest, and you let yourself laugh with him.

He looks up at you, his lips wet and his eyes dark, and whispers, “Let’s take this to my office.”

You nod, and let him lead you to his room. He leave the lights off, but his blinds are cracked and the street lamp outside of the building casts off enough light to see. His hands guide your hips into the room, and he pushes a folder and chair out of the way before he sits you on his desk. His fingers brush up your thighs before knotting in the sides of your underwear and yanking them down. He pushes your dress up as he kisses you aggressively, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

“I want to taste you,” he says, his breath hot against your cheek, and your eyes roll back in anticipation. Hands spread your legs apart as he reaches your cunt, his breath tickling your skin. He kisses the insides of your thighs, slowly moving closer to where you need him.

He starts by licking a long, flat stripe across your folds, pulling a moan from your lips. “You’re already so wet,” he chuckles. His tongue moves in large circles around your clit and leaves you speechless. The circles gradually become smaller, and his tongue works against your clit as your fingers run through his hair. He slows his tongue as one of his fingers circles your entrance and then dips into you. You arch your back, letting out a gasp, before he inserts another finger and curls them into you, finding your g-spot. A breathy moan escapes your lips as he sucks on your clit and quickens the speed of his fingers, and a knot starts in your core.

“Fuck,” you whimper as you stare down at him. He winks up at you as he guides one of your legs over his shoulder, and he continues to work on your sensitive nerve bundle. The tightening in your core becomes strong enough to shake your legs, and Chris sucks on your clit harshly, sending you into bliss. You grip the edge of the desk as you feel your orgasm spread over you. A strangled, "Yes, oh my god yes," echoes through the room as you feel your muscles clench around his fingers. Chris rocks your hips against his face as your toes curls, riding out your climax.

When your legs stop shaking, he rises to your panting lips and kisses them roughly. His hands guide you off his desk as you reach down to palm him through his pants. He bats your hand away, but instead you work on getting his shirt off. Once his shirt hits the ground, you work on his belt as his fingers tug the straps down from your dress. His lips kiss your collarbone before slipping down to your chest, where he massages your breasts gently. His slacks slide down as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, ripping a whimper from your lips.

You grip his hard dick over his underwear and he growls against your skin. Turning you around by your waist, he throws his belongings off his desk and bends you over the edge. His cock rubs against your folds teasingly before his fingers dig into your skin and he slowly pushes inside of you. Once he is completely in, he stays still letting you adjust to him. You wiggle your ass to let him know it is okay to move, and he takes his cue and pulls out of you almost completely before sharply snapping his hips back to you. You let out a surprised moan and it only encourages him to continue thrusting slowly and sharply.

His fingers knot in your hair, forcing your back to arch as he quickens his pace, and you let out a whimper as he finds your g-spot. Your hands grip his desk, and you feel your core tightening again, but before you can revel in your second orgasm Chris pulls out of you. Spinning you around, he pulls your dress over your head. Your lips find each others as his fingers slip between your legs and brush your clit. You throw your head back as his fingers work faster, and he moves his mouth down to your neck, leaving marks where his lips were.

Your second orgasm comes suddenly and powerfully, and he pulls away from your neck to watch your eyes screw shut and your mouth fall open. You fall back against his desk, your body feeling like jelly, and you're afraid you can’t stand yet. He lifts his fingers to his lips, licking them teasingly as your lungs work for air.

“You’re so pretty when you come,” he smirks before he kisses you softly. “Can I have one more, baby?” he asks, pulling you onto your weak feet. You nod at him and he rewards you with a grin. You follow him to the leather couch where he lays back and guides you onto him. You sink down on his thickness slowly, feeling yourself stretch to take all of him. His hands grip your hips as he bites his lip, and the sight of him alone, staring at you with utter lust, proves you right. You aren’t regretting this tonight.

You begin bouncing on him lazily and a low groan leaves his throat, motivating you to move your hips in a figure eight. That only pulls a loud moan from him and encourages you to do it again. You smile at him as he watches you with hooded eyes, and his hands guide you to move quicker. You trail your fingers against his chest and abs, watching his lips tug into a smirk. Giving in, you angle your body forward and you use you hands to steady yourself against his chest to ride him faster. Grinding your clit against his pubic bone causes your core to tighten for the third time that night, and one of his hands grips, and then slaps your ass. You let out a surprised whimper, and he beams up at you.

His moans get louder as you continue to ride him quicker and harder, and you know he's close. His hands grip your thighs, moving you even faster. Angling you just where he wants you, you feel your third orgasm getting closer.

He quickly sits forward, wrapping an arm around your waist, as he holds you against him. “Come for me,” he whispers in your ear as he pulls your hips down and grinds you onto him. Your arms wrap around his neck and your nails dig into his back as your third orgasm crashes over you.

Arching your chest into his you let out a breathy "Oh fuck," and he keeps you grinding against him until your waves of pleasure slow and you come back down. He kisses you hungrily as he pulls you both back on the couch and angles your hips up.

Thrusting into you recklessly, he lets out a series of moans that blends with your oversensitive whimpers. You hold his jaw in your hand as his lips fall apart in an expression of pure ecstasy. Another deep and sharp thrust into you and you feel him twitch and release as he lets out a low groan. He stays in you for another moment, holding you against him before he kisses you gently, letting his hands caress your sides.

When he finally pulls, he lets out a deep sigh. “Well that was fucking amazing,” he says quietly against your hair.

“It was,” you agree as you roll off him.

“Where ya going?” he asks as you manage to stand up.

“Just gonna clean up in the bathroom,” you assure him as you begin to pick up your dress.

“You can wear my shirt,” Chris offers as he sits up. You bite your lip and glance at him hesitantly. He gives you a nod, and you reach down for it and your underwear. Once you're dressed enough to walk down the hall, he calls to you, “Hurry back alright? I’m a cuddler.” You smile and slip out of the room.

You reach the door of the English department before you let out a giggle. You really did that. And Chris even wanted you to stay to cuddle. You lean against the doorway and try to control your excitement. Yet, as you reign your bliss in, a sense of dread settles in your bones. That dread roots itself in you. And it wasn’t leaving anytime soon.


	4. Come Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning (and couple days) after your indiscretion. “Every High Has a Come Down” by Anarbor and “Drugs and Candy” by All Time Low (both on the playlist) fit this chapter really well.

The chirping of birds outside the window wakes you. Opening your eyes slowly, you find a bare chest under your cheek and you nearly bolt upright. An arm is wrapped around your back and your leg is tangled with another. Soft snores leave Chris’s lips and you find yourself smiling until you realize what has happened.

You slept with a married man.

Sure, he's separated from his wife, but he hadn’t said anything about a divorce.

They are still married.

And he is still the Professor to your TA ass.

You glance over your shoulder to find that the English department’s hallway is still dark. No one had come to their offices yet. No one had seen anything. You let out a sigh of relief before turning back to Chris. You do not want to wake him, but you need to get out of his grip and away from this ticking time bomb of a situation.

You lift his arm gently and slowly, listening to his snores to make sure he is still asleep. Once you are able to get out of his grasp, you roll onto the floor as gracefully as possible, which is still rather clumsy, and causes a thud. Chris lets out a little groan and shifts his shoulders, and you place his arm back on the couch. He rolls onto his side but stays asleep.

You let out another relieved sigh before pushing yourself off the carpet. The sun is starting to peek over the horizon and you check your phone to see it's after 5 am. You yank Chris’s shirt off and leave it on his desk chair before finding the rest of your belongings on his floor. Once you look almost as put together as you had the night before, you grab your bag and move to his door.

You glance over your shoulder one last time, catching a small smile tugging on Chris’s lips in his sleep and you hesitate. He looks so peaceful and happy, you want to crawl back onto the couch with him. But you shake your head and turn your back on him.

No.

You would not give into this attraction anymore than you already had.

Your involvement with him only spelled trouble, and you knew if anyone found out you would be the one on the chopping block. You would lose your spot in the graduate program, and would most likely lose your writing career as well.

Pushing his door open slowly, you creep out of his office and out of your anxiety. This is a one time thing, and it is over. You let the door close softly behind you before you continue down the hallway. Straightening your spine, you let out another deep breath before exiting the English department.

One slip up was all last night was, and it wouldn’t happen again.

* * *

Chris calls you a couple hours after you left his office, but you let it go to voicemail. He leaves one surprisingly, saying when he woke up he was sad to find you’d left but that he was thankful for the night before.

When you don’t respond to him over the next two days, he calls again and leaves another voice message. That time he asks you to call him back or text him, but you do neither of those things. You want a clean break from him, to get him out of your system. He is too tempting, too intoxicating. Being near him makes it impossible for you to keep your resolve, and you are desperately clinging to your determination as it is.

He sends you several texts on Monday where he suddenly changes his tune. He apologizes for what happened Thursday night and promises it wouldn’t happen again. He says he understands that no matter how good it feels for you two to be together, it can’t be, and that he respects your decision to restrict contact.

You refuse to answer him again, because you know the second you do, you lose your backbone.

* * *

You walk into class Tuesday with your head held high. None of the students pay any attention your way, but the second you lock eyes with Chris you feel proud of yourself. You force your legs to carry you to your desk, and even as you turn your back to him, you can still feel Chris’ eyes on you. You pull out the assignment worksheets after you sit down and you raise your gaze to find Chris glancing over his shoulder at you every couple seconds.

Thankfully, Tom approaches you not even a moment later, and you give him a polite smile as he sits in the seat next to yours. The class is in the middle of their Romanticism unit, and they spent the week before with Lord Byron and Percy Shelley’s poetry. This week they're beginning Keats, Coleridge, and Wordsworth’s works.

Tom pulls out his laptop before turning to you, “Did you have a good weekend (Y/N)?”

You look at him, “It was alright.” The corners of his mouth perk up at your words and you decide that he is a welcome distraction from Chris. “How was your weekend, Tom?

“It was good,” he nods at you. “I started my paper that’s due next Thursday.”

“That’s good, which poet did you decide to write on?” you ask as you angle your body towards him.

“Uh, Keats actually,” Tom says as he glances at you nervously.

“As your grader, I technically am not allowed to be biased toward a paper’s subject. But Keats has always been my favorite Romantic poet, so you picked well.”

He grins and lets out a small chuckle, “That’s good to hear.” He opens his notes as you begin to pull out your laptop. “Um, I might actually stop by your office hours Thursday or next Tuesday, depending on how far I’ve gotten into this paper.”

“Sounds good,” you assure him. The sound of feet walking off the hollow platform at the front of class, echo through the auditorium. “You’re more than welcome to stop by.”

Chris approaches you with a stern expression, his hands tucked in his pockets. He clears his throat as he makes it to where you and Tom are sitting. “Hi Tom,” he starts, giving the boy a polite smile. “I’m looking forward to reading your next paper.”

“Oh uh, thanks Professor Evans,” Tom grins nervously. “I was actually just telling (Y/N) I’d probably stop by with questions for her sometime this week.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Chris assures him. “But remember, (Y/N)’s not the only one with office hours.” Tom’s cheeks blush a little at his words and he drops his gaze.

Chris turns his focus to you, a small smirk tugging on his lips. You glare at him. “Uh, (Y/N), do you have the assignment sheets for today?”

“Yep, right here,” you answer as you hold them up. “I was just about to hand them out.” He nods at you, but his eyes continue to bore into yours.

You slide out of your seat and give Tom a tiny smile as you hand him the paper. Chris doesn’t walk away from you, so you shoot him a sharp glance over your shoulder. He holds your gaze for a moment before taking a step toward the stage, and backing down. You turn back to the students and put on a polite smile.

You two are not going to discuss this here.

This is a professional setting, and you wanted to keep it that way.

When you finally sit back down and focus on the class, Chris makes sure to keep his eyes averted from you.

* * *

No one bothers to come to your office hours, so you sit alone in your almost closet sized space and do the attendance points for the day. Once you finish with that, you start brainstorming pieces to submit to Robert for publication.

You jot down your ideas but your mind easily drifts to Chris’s behavior in class. He seemed so worried at the beginning of class, and after you had shot him that warning glance he’d avoided you altogether. You hoped that meant he was finally taking this serious, and that he wouldn’t make another move towards you.

And as much as that helped your mental stability, your heart felt a little heavier knowing you were over.

You start packing your bags quickly as your office hours end, wanting to get out of the department before Chris comes back to his office after his last class of the day. As you start to zip up your bag, a knock comes from your door. You turn to it hesitantly but open it.

Chris is standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking puppy dog like. “Can we talk?” he asks quietly, leaning his elbow against your door frame.

“Um,” you start.

“We need to talk, (Y/N).” He steps into your office, closing the door behind him. “You can’t ignore me forever.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” you respond, stepping behind your desk to create space between you two. “We just need to keep our distance from each other.”

“You know we can’t do that forever.”

“Well, I’m gonna try,” you shrug, dropping your gaze to your desk.

Chris lets out a frustrated groan, “I don’t want you to try.” He begins pacing back in forth in the small space. “I’m trying to do what you want, (Y/N). I understand that this is risky, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about you constantly. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to talk to you about anything and everything. This feels right. You feel right to me.”

“Chris, don’t,” you whisper the warning, afraid of what might slip from your lips next.

“Do you really want this all to go away?” he asks as he stops in front of your desk. You cross your arms and try to harden your gaze, attempting to keep yourself in check. “Do you really have no feelings for me?”

“I uh, I think it’s best if this goes away,” you stumble, your brain desperately wishing to ramble, to tell him the truth. Of course you have feelings for him, and when you're together everything seems easier. But you needed your lips to not say those things.

His gaze drops and his expression turns dejected, “I’ll leave you alone then.” Your pulse is beating in your ears and you hate this position you're in. Your career is important, you’d wanted to be a writer forever, but you also deserve to be happy. You deserve to find joy in your experiences, experiences that could help you find inspiration. You just want that happiness to not be with him.

But you can’t change how you feel, and honestly, you don’t want to.

He shuffles to the door and just as his hand hits the knob, you let out a deep breath, “Don’t.” He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder. You feel your emotions flood from your brain to your lips. “I can’t deny how I feel about you, and-.” His brows lift at your words. “This-, us, it feels right to me too.”

He turns from your door slowly, his brows furrowing. You aren’t sure who moves first, but all you know is that his lips are on yours, and you want them to never leave. You wrap yours arms around him and kiss him back softly, savoring the feel of him.

He pins you against the wall of your office, causing your bodies to bump together and you pull back from his lips for only a moment.

Leaning your head back, you close your eyes.

“Well shit,” you whisper.

But you're smiling.


	5. Tie Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You two continue to hide your affair from the department and his wife. VERY NSFW!

Chris’s warm lips trace the nape of your neck, his hands slipping teasingly under the hem of your shirt. You tangle a hand in his hair and he lets out a soft growl before he softly bites into your shoulder.

“You know we should find a better place to do this?” you suggest as he rubs his hardened, clothed cock against your ass. You were pressed together in the supply closet across from the English department. This had been your hiding place since you’d given in to your attraction to him. After hours your offices were fair game, but while other professors and grad students were around, you had to go somewhere else.

“But then all the secret, sexy encounters won’t seem as thrilling,” he answers as his fingers caress the side of your neck. His mouth finds your earlobe, his teeth tugging on it gently.

You angle your neck to the side, giving him better access. “You’re married and my boss. The location doesn’t really matter.”

“Ahhh,” he starts as he slips a finger past the band of your underwear. “Separated, hopefully divorced soon. And not really your boss, more like your partner in education.”

“Oh, English professors,” you sigh as you lean into his firm chest. “Always rephrasing to change the severity, but never actually denying the intent.”

Chris chuckles against your skin as his fingers dip into your wetness. “You’re a little eager, aren’t you?” Jerking your hips against his hand, the pad of his thumb brushes over your clit. A small whine escapes your lips and Chris pulls his hands away from you. “Not so fast.”

“Why not?” you tease as you turn to face him. Your arms wrap around his neck as you pull him closer to your mouth. “You normally can’t wait to have me turning to putty in your hands.”

“Oh, you know how I like hearing you moan my name.” And in fact you do know. In the two weeks since you two had started sleeping together, Chris had made you come over and over again. He took a certain satisfaction in it that seemed to get him off even more than you sometimes. And while guilt gnawed at the back of your mind, multiple orgasms did help alleviate some of your shame.

He kisses you urgently, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip, begging for entrance. He pulls away, dragging his bottom lip up with yours. “But we don’t have much time,” he says before he trails kisses from your cheek to your neck. “I have a class in 20 minutes.”

“I guess,” you answer as you roll your eyes. Chris’s mouth moves to your chest as his hands work on the buttons on your pants. As he pulls your pants down your legs, you tug on his hair. “Then we better hurry up.“

As Chris stands up you bring his face to yours, feeling his scruff with your fingers. Your mouths connect sloppily as he pushes you against the wall of the closet. A thud comes from somewhere near you and he straightens up. It’s just a vacuum that got knocked over. You giggle against his skin as you unbuckle his belt. As you push his pants down his thighs you give his ass a little squeeze and his teeth graze your bottom lip.

Running your fingers across the band of his underwear, he lifts one of your legs up to wrap around his waist. As your fingers reach his hard dick, you give him a couple quick jerks, and he gasps in your mouth. You grin and push his underwear down with your thumbs. Fingers dig into your hips before they dip under your underwear.

His fingers slip your undies to the side as he guides his cock to your entrance. Instead of pushing into you immediately, he rubs the head of his dick across your folds, collecting your wetness as you press a moan to his lips. His tip brushes your clit and your lips fall open as you whimper into his mouth.

“Goddamn,” he whispers as you arch your body into his. “The sounds you make will never get old.”

He continues to rub his cock against your clit and you feel a heat roll up your body. “Please stop teasing me,” you beg in his ear.

“Alright,” he laughs as one of his hands grips onto your hip and his other guides his length to your entrance. He presses his forehead to yours as he stares into your eyes, “Ready?”

You nod and bite your bottom lip. He thrusts upwards slowly, and you feel yourself stretch to accommodate him. A quiet gasp leaves your mouth as you take all of him, and Chris’s fingers caress your hips and thighs. After a moment, he presses a soft kiss to your lips and wraps an arm around your waist tightly. You knot your arms behind his neck and grind your hips against him.

Understanding your signal, he starts thrusting into you quickly, knowing you two are running out of time. The tip of his cock brushes against your g-spot, pulling a loud moan from your throat and he smothers your sounds with his own groan.

“We, we should, really try, to be, quieter,” you manage, your words breaking at each of his thrusts. To quiet himself, he bites into your shoulder and you throw your head back to control your need to call out. Chris lifts your other leg up, and you squeeze your legs around him. He wraps both of his arms around your waist, supporting your weight as he bounces you on him even faster. You feel your core tighten as your clit grinds against his pubic bone.

As quickly as your own orgasm approaches, you know Chris’s is coming faster. His lips suck on your neck, but his grunts grow louder with every one of his thrusts. He digs his fingers into your sides as he tries to control his build up, but you know it’s useless.

Knotting your fingers in his hair, you tug his head back and his mouth falls open with a groan. “It’s okay,” you say as you look down at him. His brows furrow at your words and you nod at him. “I want you to come.”

His eyes bore into yours as he stops bouncing you and presses you against the wall instead. He keeps his movements shallow, controlled, as he pushes himself over his edge and you scratch your nails up his back as he does. You clench your walls around him, helping him come closer to ecstasy with each of his strokes.  After another moment, his thrusts become erratic and reckless and you whisper into his ear, “Let go, baby.”

He groans as he releases in you, continuing his jerky movements. The moment Chris comes down from his high, he slips out of you and grabs a tissue from the supply closet. He cleans you up and just as you’re about to pull your pants back on, he smacks your hand away.

“Not so fast,” he says as his thumb brushes your clit. You bite your lip to keep your moan muffled. His fingers work frantically against your sensitive bud and your orgasm grows closer as Chris grins up at you. Your hand reaches for your phone on the janitor’s cart and you knock over a spray bottle as you try to hold onto something. Your legs start shaking as Chris rises up to kiss you but you lift your phone up.

“Your class is in 8 minutes,” you warn him before he captures your bottom lip between both of his. His fingers work even more frantically, circling your clit tightly. As your climax starts your fingers grip his biceps and his lips move away from yours, nipping at your jaw.

“I don’t leave this closet until you come,” he says, his breath hot against your skin. You let out a whimper as you unravel in his hands and his fingers continue their assault, slipping into you and curling into your g-spot.

When you finally come down, gasping and panting for air, he licks his fingers clean and grins haughtily at you. You grab your phone and look at the clock, “Five minutes, Chris.”

He pulls his underwear and pants up quickly before he kisses you tenderly. “They can wait a couple minutes.” You roll your eyes at him and pull up your own pants. He tucks in his shirt and then slips his suit jacket back on before he caresses your cheek, “I swear, I owe you two more orgasms as soon as possible.”

“Tomorrow night?” you ask him, tucking your phone in your back pocket.

“Absolutely,” he nods before holding your face in his hands, kissing you again, and slipping out of the closet.

* * *

You give him 5 minutes to get to his class before you even think about leaving the closet. You know your ponytail has been ruined from your quickie and you put yourself back together before you slip out of the closet, a box of tissues in your hand. Luckily for you, carrying a piece of supplies out of the closet after every one of your hook ups finally pays off.

Sebastian takes the last four steps up the stairs as he waves at you, “(Y/N)! Hi!”

You greet him with a smile, your legs suddenly feeling shaky, “Hi Sebastian.”

“Oh please, call my Seb,” he says as he reaches the top of the stairs. He opens up the door to the English department and holds it for you.

“Thank you,” you nod at him politely, as you sneak by him.

“Did you find what you were looking for in the supply closet?” he asks as he falls in step with your pace.

“I, uh, I absolutely did,” you assure him as you lift up the tissue box.

“Great,” he smiles and winks before he turns to unlock his door. “I’ll see you around, (Y/N).”

“See ya, Seb,” you call back as you reach your own door. 

Once you get inside, your back pressed to the door, you let out a sigh of relief. Sebastian’s words seemed to imply that he knew what was going on, but you hoped he was just being cheeky.

But deep in your gut, you knew this was still wrong. Yet it felt so goddamn right.


	6. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally get Chris to come over to your apartment, and the privacy leads to emotional revelations and hope.

Another two weeks of your sexy and secretive affair passes, and your feelings for Chris only seem to solidify more. Not your ‘this-sex-is-amazing-and-he’s-devastatingly-attractive’ feelings, but your ‘goddamn-I-really-like-this-guy-and-wish-he-would-divorce-his-wife’ feelings. The separated life was taking its toll on Chris. He’d gone from clean shaven at the beginning of the semester to having an aggressively growing beard that he only seemed to find time to trim every few days. Not that you didn’t appreciate the way his hair scratched the inside of your thighs, but his overall hygiene had plummeted as well.

Since your affair had began, you’d offered for him to come over to wash his clothes and use your shower. He’d declined every time, but that didn’t stop you from offering.

The next Thursday you walk into class to find Chris’s beard looking particularly scraggly and the bags under his eyes appear even darker and heavier than usual. Several students stand at his desk, waiting to ask questions about the next paper they have due so you decide to head for your usual spot. As you take your seat next to Tom, Chris’s eyes dart over to you, daring to exchange a private glance in such a public place. You only hold his gaze for a moment and feel a warmth spread through your chest as you just think about being near him. But your fear quickly creeps over your skin, whispering what would happen if you accidentally exposed your affair. You gulp quickly, trying to swallow those thoughts.  

As you look away from the platform, Tom leans toward you, “Any exciting plans for the weekend?”

“Nope, I have to write a short story for Professor Downey and then I have a paper due in one of my classes. It’s gonna be a weekend spent in, writing.”

“That sounds like it could be kinda nice. A writer’s retreat,” he smiles, reminding you how much you appreciate this little nerd.

“Always looking at the positives, right Tom?”

He laughs and nods as he goes back to typing on his laptop. You glance up to see Chris with the last student in line and you decide to text him a little joke. You type out,  _The students finally driving you to insomnia with their late night emails?_  and you wait to see Chris glance at his phone. It takes him a moment, but once the student walks away he opens the message and you notice the corners of his mouth perk up.

He answers,  _You know the only messages I answer after midnight are yours._

You catch yourself smiling at the text, but quickly drop your phone in your bag so no one else can see it. Chris starts the class with an announcement on the next paper that’s due, and you fall into your regular class routine.

* * *

As class comes to an end you hesitate near the back door, waiting for Chris to finish packing up and talking to the last couple of students loitering about. You say goodbye to Tom and lean against the door frame. It takes a couple minutes but Chris eventually emerges as he waves goodbye to the students walking out the front doors.

“You have another class, right?” you ask, falling in step with him.

“Oh hey, yeah,” he nods, slowing as he realizes you’re next to him.

“I can talk and walk,” you smile and push open the door to the building.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” he asks, watching you as he steps onto the sidewalk. “You’re the one who’s always cautious about us being together.”

“I’m gonna keep it quick, I just figured I’d ask if you want to come over tonight?”

“Miss-we-can’t-ever-be-seen-together is asking me, in public, to come to her apartment?”

You smile as you cross the street with him, “Yes, I am.”

“Why would I take you up on your offer this time?”

“Because you look like you could use a good shower and need to wash your clothes.” The glare he throws your way says enough, but you keep your pace with him. “Hey, I’m just being honest. Maybe you can actually eat a home cooked meal for the first time in weeks.”

“I had a home cooked meal last week at Sebastian’s.”

“Well only one in the past month doesn’t seem like enough.”

“You’re not gonna give up on this, are you?”

“Hey, I thought you were the one who actively pursued this relationship?” As you say the words, Chris grabs your elbow and pulls you around a corner that’s tucked away from public view.

“I was, and while I’m delighted that you want to further this relationship, I don’t have an excuse if someone finds out I’m at your apartment.” His fingers slip down your forearm and gently brush the palm of your hand as his features soften. 

“I need to work on a short story for Robert, I’ll say you were helping me brainstorm.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, taking half a step closer to you. You wish he’d close the distance between you two completely.

You nod quickly, “I’m sure.” Your fingers brush his own, desperately wanting to interlock. But you know that can’t happen.

“Okay,” he sighs, taking a step back. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He leaves you hidden in that corner, and as he walks away you can’t help but smile in victory.

* * *

You get home a little over an hour before you expect Chris, and that gives you just enough time to tidy up and consider what meal to make. You pace around your apartment, making yourself wait until he’s done with his office hours to send him your address. You find enough ingredients to offer him a couple options for dinner, and hear a knock on your door 10 minutes earlier than you anticipated.

You open the door to find a clearly fatigued, luggage carrying Chris trying his best to look enthusiastic. You wave him inside with a smile and he steps over the threshold clumsily, nearly dropping his things in the process. Helping him out, you take a bag and place it on the ground as he closes the door behind himself. He places his other bag near your door as you take a step toward him.

“Hi,” you whisper, a hand slipping up his shirt.

“Hey,” he answers, a soft smile eases his stressed features as he looks down at you. His hands pull you toward him quickly and you rise on your toes to reach his mouth. He leans back against the door, hands brushing your sides before his arms wrap around your waist. 

The way he kisses you is different. 

Not like how he kisses you before or during sex, no it’s closer to how he kisses you afterwards when he’s saying thank you. But while it feels grateful, it’s gentler, longer, lazier. Like you’ve both been pulled into a quiet moment, a still space, and neither of you want it to end.

Eventually, you have to separate for air and Chris holds you against him, savoring having you this close. Your eyes shut as a smile settles on your lips. You finally have Chris to yourself without the haunting sense of being walked in on.

* * *

Two hours later, the plates you eat pasta from are already clean, there’s a load of clean laundry folded on your bed, and another load is tumbling in the dryer. Your legs are stretched across Chris’s lap, with your computer resting on your thighs. Your paper for class needs two more paragraphs, but you’re busy utilizing this ridiculously handsome and talented man’s brain.

“So, you don’t think a story about a Myspace love connection between two teens that live on opposite sides of the world, would work?”

He runs a hand through his now trim and clean beard, “No, while that’s an interesting concept, I feel like you’re trying too hard to find inspiration in a concept. You need to let the world tell you what to write.”

“That’s the problem Chris,” you groan, throwing your head back. “The world hasn’t told me what to write in months.” You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and close your eyes, trying to think of literally anything to write.

An idea comes to mind, but it’s too foolish and personal for you to consider it for more than a second.

He chuckles as he closes your laptop and places it your side table, knowing you need a break. He tugs on your wrist, pulling you farther onto his lap and you let him as you rest your head on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss to your temple as his fingers stroke your hair. “You’ll figure it out, and whatever you write I’m positive it’ll be amazing.”

Him holding you, soothing your nerves and trying to be supportive, sets something off in the back of your mind. It whispers that this is something foreign. Not wrong, no, just different. He’s always full of kind words and praise, but the domestic-ness of the moment reminds you of what you are missing out on. What you can’t have with him until he’s divorced.

“You’re just saying that cuz we’re fucking,” your voice is soft as you finally let the thought escape. Chris immediately straightens, lifting your head to look at you.

“Hey, hey no.” His fingers brush your cheek before they shift your chin so you’ll hold his gaze. “I’m saying that because I believe in you, fully, and I care about you. I want to see you succeed whether we’re together or not.” You stare into his eyes and find nothing but honesty and tenderness.

That both scares and excites you.

“(Y/N), I lo-.”

“Chris, don’t.”

“No, I’m not letting you stop me from finally saying this. I love you.”

“I-, I-,” you stammer, knowing that you feel the exact same way, but that you’re too afraid to admit that this physical affair has been an emotional one too.

“You don’t have to say it. I already know how you feel, if by nothing but your actions.” He presses your foreheads together, keeping you close. “You’ve never been some random, alluring mistress that I’m having a torrid affair with. You’re a beautiful, smart, talented, and willful woman that I knew I wanted in my life from the day we met, and this was never about opportunity or adventure. This relationship has been built on more than that. You’re my girlfriend. The only person I wake up thinking about every morning, and the only person I want to talk to at the end of everyday.”

You can’t control it anymore, you connect your mouths while tugging Chris against you. His arms wrap around you as he lays down on the couch, pulling you on top of him. You kiss him softly and passionately as your fingers brush his beard, and he smiles into the kiss. Hands cradle your face as he pulls back just enough to speak.

“I mean it. Every word.”

You want this feeling to last forever, the certainty that what you have is real and honest, and you’re together. And maybe you could be together, for a long time.

* * *

The buzzer from the dryer forces your eyes open, pulling you from your blissful state. You glance up at Chris to find him watching you, a small smile on his lips. You quietly ask, “What?” but he just shakes his head and stays still under you. You rest your cheek against his chest again as you let yourself sink into him, never wanting to leave your couch.

After another moment of peace, Chris runs his fingers over your spine, “I should probably get my clothes.”

You want to tell him no, but you don’t.

He shifts under you prompting you to push yourself off of him. He gets up to get his laundry as you silently stay in a ball on the couch. Watching him fold and sort his clothes on your bed leaves you with an aching in your chest, but you’re not quite sure if it’s sadness now that your private time together is up, or just your desire to have him with you fully. No wife, no secrets, no risk of losing your job.

“I should probably go,” he says, keeping his back to you.

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s probably best if I do.”

“Chris. You just told me you love me thirty minutes ago, and now you want to leave?” Your voice grows louder as you lean against the back of the couch, moving closer to him.

“I didn’t tell you that so you’d let me stay.” He’s looking at you now, his expression and voice blunt.

“What if I want you to stay? What if I’m the one offering? What if I want to spend the night together?”

His eyes soften as he takes a step toward you, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. His touch is gentle, and you know this discussion is already over. “Then I’d stay.”

“Then it’s settled,” you smile, resting your head in his hand. “You’re spending the night.”

* * *

You two spend the rest of the evening lazily strewn across your couch, watching TV, cuddling tightly, and kissing during every other commercial break. As the local news comes on, you stretch your arms and notice the considerable droop of Chris’s eyelids, and the part of his lips as sleep starts taking over him.

“You ready to get some sleep in a real bed?” you ask quietly, teasing sneaking into your tone.

His eyelashes flutter as he realizes you’re talking to him, and it takes him another moment to understand what you asked. “I’ve been ready for over a month,” he smiles, and lets you pull him off the couch.

He stops at the edge of your bed, pulling his shirt over his head and letting his sweatpants hit the floor. He sits at the end of your mattress in his boxers, waiting for you to join him. “I’ll be back in a minute. Go ahead and get comfy.”

He gives you a small nod before laying back against the bed, his eyes closing before his head even makes contact.

You slip into the bathroom quietly and change into an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boyshorts. Pulling your hair up, you notice the dark circles forming under your own eyes and rub them gently. As tired as you are, you know Chris is much more exhausted. You sneak out of the bathroom to find your boyfriend under the covers, an arm under his pillow while his other arm stretches across your pillow. You hesitate, wanting not to disturb his peaceful sleep, but also wanting to hold onto the image of him in your bed, looking the most content he’s looked since you met him.

“Ya just gonna stand there all night and watch me, or are you gonna get over here?” he asks, peeking at you with one eye.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“That doesn’t make it any less creepy,” he chuckles as he lifts his hand toward you. “And I’m only half-way there. I want you next to me before I start snoring.”

You can’t help the smirk that tugs at your lips as you take his hand and slide under the covers. His pulls you closer to him, and you roll onto your side to rest your head on his chest. His fingers stroke your shoulder for only a moment before they still and you know sleep’s taken over him. You look up at him, at his beautiful cheekbones, his pink lips, his full lashes, and finally find the nerve to say the truth out loud.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thank you for your patience on this update!!! I know it's been a month but I started 2 other stories/series in that time and also started my last semester as an undergrad.  
> I've noticed the influx of new comments in the last week and I want you all to know that I really appreciate all the kind words and that they're what motivates me to keep writing. I'm working on Chapter 7 now, and it should be up in the next week (anyone up for some lazy morning sex?)  
> Thank you all again, and see ya soon!


	7. Take It Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy morning in, filled with feelings and slow sex.

You wake up a little after 8 am, cracks of light from your window already sliding across your bedroom wall. Chris’s arm holds your waist as he spoons you. His breathing is shallow, and ruffles your hair every few seconds.

You lift his wrist just enough to roll onto your back without disturbing him, and you shift slowly, trying not to let the bed groan under you. His breathing stays the same, and you place his hand across your stomach as you settle back into your pillow.

You look over at him and immediately feel stunned.

He looks as angelic as ever and he’s not even conscious. His collarbone tattoo peeks out at you, and your fingers reach for it instinctively, grazing it softly as you trace the words. You’d never had the chance to talk to him about his ink before, since most of your naked time was spent rushed or in the dark. His eyes move under his eyelids, and you pull your hand back, not wanting to wake him.

You catch the soft flutter of his lashes, but instead of his eyes opening, he nestles into you more. Your hip meets his lower abdomen as his nose dips to smell your hair. A comfortable wave of contentment crashes over you, making your insides feel warm and your heart feel safe. His beard tickles your cheek and a smile reaches your lips.

This is what you want. What feels right. To wake up next to Chris.

Not just today, but everyday.

“Are you just gonna keep staring at me?” he asks, his lips brushing your forehead.

“Maybe.”

“Is it a good view?” His eyes remain shut, but the corners of his mouth lift.

“The best. Even with all the drool.” His eyes snap open as he wipes around his face. “It’s just a little bit,” you tease as you brush your thumb over his chin.

His cheeks darken as he stares at you, “Are you just messing with me?”

“I’m not, but I like that I can still make you nervous.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m always so worried about whether I’m enough for you. That I’m just a side thing while you’re on a break from your marriage, and that you’ll leave me for her. I wonder if this is serious enough to last. If I’m too cautious for this to work, or too dumb because I want it to.”

“I told you last night that you’re more to me than a fling. I take us being together completely seriously. And if it helps, I have an appointment to meet a divorce lawyer this week.”

You roll onto your side to face him, “Thanks, but that doesn’t stop my nerves or change the fact that I could lose my spot in the graduate program.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. If the school somehow found out, I’d resign before they’d even get the chance to discuss your place here.”

“You would?” your eyes grow wide as you look up at him.

“Yes I would, because I love you. And you deserve a good education and a career in writing.”

Silence hangs between you two as you let his words sink in. He presses a kiss against your forehead as he pulls you into him with both of his arms. His affection envelopes you and you cling to him, wanting the rest of the world to fall away.

“I love you too,” you whisper into his neck. He pulls away quickly to look you in the eyes. “But you knew that already.”

“It doesn’t make it any less amazing to hear,” he grins, and you’re tangling a hand in his hair, bringing his lips to yours. His fingers trail down your spine, sending sparks through your body, and you wrap a leg around his waist. Lips and teeth skim your jaw, moving to your neck. “That’s what we didn’t get to last night,” he chuckles against your skin, and the warmth of happiness turns into heated passion.

“You were tired,” you whisper as his hands grip your hips, fingers teasing the waistband of your boyshorts.

“I’m fully refreshed now.”

His fingers slip into your underwear, dipping into your folds gently. A muffled whimper comes from your throat, your neck curving back as you press your hips against his hand. His index finger strokes your clit slowly as his teeth nip at your skin. Your fingers dig into his biceps and his fingers slip lower, circling your entrance.

You want his fingers curling into you, sending you into bliss but he has other ideas.

His hand leaves your underwear to find your thigh, and he rolls you onto your back, his body hovering over yours. He slides your underwear down as his lips kiss you chastely, softly. You wrap an arm over his shoulder, trying to pull him onto you.

“Not yet,” he grins, his hot breath fanning over your neck.

He pushes himself down your body, his hands pressing your hips into the mattress. As his breath trails down your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, he positions himself between your legs, lifting them over his shoulders. His beard tickles the inside of your thighs, leaving you anticipating his tongue. He spreads your legs apart more, giving him a better view of your arousal.

The first brush of his tongue against your clit pulls a moan from your lips, and you raise your hips, wanting more. He chuckles as he places an arm over your hips, keeping your butt against the bed. The next swipe of his tongue is torturous and slow, moving from your entrance to your clit and back again. Your eyes roll back in your head as his tongue focuses on your sensitive nerve bundle, circling it lazily, building your orgasm gradually.

His hand not holding your hips down slips under your tshirt, finding your breasts easily. A sharp pinch of your nipple as his tongue’s circles shrink, makes you cry out, needing more. His fingers smooth over your skin, caressing your softness as his lips suck on your clit. You tangle a hand in his hair, tugging on his roots as your breath becomes heavier.

He changes his pace, dragging your climax out again as he flattens his tongue against your folds, collecting your wetness. Your back arches as his tongue roughly runs over your clit, and your restraint disappears. You buck your hips against his face and he sucks on your sweet spot as you grind yourself against him. The muscles in your legs start to spasm and your walls tighten, coming so close to release.

As your moans become louder and your legs start to tense around him, Chris decides to postpone your peak. He removes his mouth from you, wiping at his lips as you whine at the loss of contact.

You notice the shake of his head as he pushes himself up and you reach out for him. He leans away from your hands as he pushes his boxers down.

“I’m trying something different today.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, dropping your hands.

His hands push your legs up, giving him a better angle to enter you at. “We’re always rushing or trying to be quiet.” His thumb swirls his pre-cum around the head of his hard dick.

“Want me to be loud?”

He shakes his head, a devilish smile taking over his concentration. He glides the underside of his cock across your folds, teasing a moan from you.

“Just don’t hold back like you’ve been.”

The tip of his dick circles your entrance as he moves closer to you. His cock pushes into you slowly, his mouth falling open in ecstasy, feeling your muscles accommodate every inch of him. Once his hips are flush with yours he stays still, savoring the moment. Chasing your own high, you tighten around him and a loud groan leaves his lips. You bite your own, enjoying his reaction but instead of following your lead, his eyes focus on yours.

“No rushing, okay?”

He refuses to move until you nod, and once you do he pulls back slowly. He keeps his pace like that, watching himself disappear inside you before pulling back out. You slip a hand between your legs, needing more stimulation. He grabs your wrist with a grin, and he lowers himself between your legs. Fingers pin your wrist to the mattress as his eyes focus on your face, watching your lips open and a whimper escape as his angle changes. His thrusts become different, still deep, but his tip strokes your g-spot and he lessens the time between his thrusts.

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close to you, and as he delivers another sharp push, you arch your back into him. Your breathing becomes heavy, mimicking his movements, and you can tell your climax is growing nearer again. He lowers himself onto his forearms and traces your lips with his own. Your whimpers are muffled by his mouth as his speed changes again, him staying buried deeper in you as his thrusts become rougher and less intentional.

Your arms circle his neck as you kiss him deeper, slipping your own tongue past his lips. You clench around him, wanting your climax more than ever. He slips a hand past your hip and gently strokes your clit as he continues his deep thrusts. His lips trail to your ear as you whine against his cheek.

“I want you to come with me.”

You nod and his fingers quicken their pace, bringing you to your breaking point. Your muscles tighten and spasm around him as you let out a loud moan, and his thrusts become erratic as he releases in you. Your legs shake as your walls milk his cock and he groans in your ear, continuing to fuck you through your high.

“I love you,” he whispers as his hips slow. “I love you.”


	8. Dopamine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet Dodger, help Chris find an apartment, and have some steamy sex in his car. (This one might hurt.)

Your fingers drum on the trunk of your car, nerves building in your gut as you wait for Chris. It’s the weekend before Halloween and the weather has been hovering around 60 degrees. Dogs bark behind you, keeping your mind set on what’s about to happen.

Chris and you were about to go out as a couple for the first time. Not quite on a date or anything, and the dog park you two were meeting at was 30 minutes away from campus, but it was still something.

He’d ended up spending the entire weekend before with you, telling you how much he loved you every chance he got and falling asleep on your couch every time you cuddled up with him. You two talked about his marriage and their separation more than you previously had. You even helped him find a few apartments to look at. By the end of your secret staycation, you felt like your relationship was in a different place. It was real, open and honest, and it felt like you might actually be able to go public. And for the first time since you two got together, a sense of hope rooted itself in you. You two could be happy, and there were significantly less “what ifs” attached to that happiness.

Chris’s car pulls into the parking lot, and your fingers freeze on the edge of your trunk. A white and tan head pops up from the passenger seat, and you feel a smile already pulling on your lips. You watch as Chris pushes out of the vehicle, his eyes landing on you, and a grin breaks across his face. You feel your heart beat faster. He moves to the other side of his car, and lets his pup, Dodger, out.

Glancing over your shoulder, you check to make sure no one you know has snuck into the park. You find the same couple throwing a ball around with their two labradors at the far end of the park, and the pair of moms with a group of kids playing with a three small dogs. The only new face is man jogging the trail next to the park with his border collie.

Footsteps grow closer to you, and something bumps your foot.

You turn to find Dodger standing in front of you, his tongue hanging out of his mouth happily as he tries to get your attention. Chris is a few feet behind, trying to keep up with his eager dog. You push off your car with a grin and squat down to pet Dodger. All it takes is one gentle stroke of his head, and he throws himself at you, rolling onto his back for you to scratch his belly.

You chuckle as you give in and Dodger wiggles under your fingers in excitement.

“Buddy, I thought we talked about this,” Chris says as he squats down in front of you and pets the dog’s chest. “This is my girlfriend, not yours.”

Hearing him say those words in public sends a warmth through your limbs. You give Dodger one last pat on his belly and stand up. The dog rolls back over and hops up, wanting to stay with you. Chris pushes himself up too, and you lean back on your car as you finally get to take him in.

He’s in a pair of dark jeans and a fitted blue henley that shows off his broad shoulders, and you desperately want to touch him. Apparently, he’s thinking the same thing, because he places a hand on your hip and takes a step closer to you.

“Hi,” he grins, looking down at you from under his thick lashes.

“Hi,” you whisper back and try your best to control your happiness.

He tilts his head toward you, and you slide a hand across his beard as you bring your lips to his. The kiss is gentle, welcoming, earnest. His hand slips to the small of your back as you feel the brush of his tongue against yours, and his fingers splay across your spine before pulling you closer to him. Your arms wrap around his neck and you lean into him, a smile breaking across your lips as you deepen the kiss. If you two weren’t connected, you were pretty sure you could float away from happiness.

A paw steps on your foot, and your teeth brush Chris’s lip. You pull back to find Dodger trying to worm himself between you two. Chris lets out a sigh, and you take a step back to catch your breath. You two were supposed to be keeping a low profile.

“Is someone jealous because he’s not getting enough attention?” Chris asks as Dodger steps in front of him. The dog raises his ears as he looks up at his owner, and then tugs on his leash as he heads toward the park. Chris lets out a laugh as he allows Dodger to drag him onto the grass. You stay behind for a moment, watching the two of them together, Dodger’s tail wagging excitedly as Chris grins at the moms with their small herd of children and dogs.

He starts talking to them and glances over his shoulder, looking for you. You feel the smile on your lips deepen as you begin walking toward them.

You could get used to this.

* * *

Chris’s fingers knot with your own as he leads you into the first apartment you found for him. You were pretty sure going apartment hunting with a married man before he was divorced, or before you two were even public, was some kind of violation. Nonetheless, he begged you to come along and even used the excuse that if Dodger wasn’t allowed on the tours or needed to go outside, you could look after him.

Luckily, the first building manager loved dogs and was happy to let you two bring Dodger inside. You hold onto his leash as Chris speaks with the older man, “The hardwood floors are in great shape.”

“I had them refinished after the last tenant moved out,” the man nods as he leads you to the dining area and kitchen. “We worked on the exposed brick to make it a little more modern.” Chris runs his fingers over the stone countertops and you keep Dodger away from the stainless steel appliances. “How soon are you two looking to move in?”

“Oh, uh, I won’t be moving in,” you manage.

“She has her own apartment and lease right now, so it would be further down the line for her,” Chris adds, and you turn away to hide your smile. “I’ve just been in a bad living situation at the moment and need to move.”

“Understandable. Would the beginning of next month work?” the man asks.

“Something soon would definitely be best.”

The man ends up sitting on a chair and petting Dodger as he tells you two to finish looking around. You follow Chris into the bathroom first and he checks out the shower as you take in the countertops and cabinets.

“We could both fit in here and still have some space to have fun,” he whispers as his eyes lock on yours in the mirror.

“Chris,” you warn as you hold his reflected gaze.

He gives you a quick wink, “Just a suggestion.”

The master bedroom is pretty large and the guest room would be a perfect writing space. While he’s busy taking in the apartment, you’re truly focused on Chris’s body language, his expressions. The way his eyes light up when he notices the view from the bedroom window or how his lips part when he’s taking in the built-in bookshelves, perfect to hold his personal library. You stay close to the door, watching him roam the space and taking pride in the fact that you found this apartment for him.

Chris turns on you, a small smirk tugging the corner of his mouth up. “So (Y/N), what do you think of this place?” He closes the distance between your bodies and brushes his fingers down your arms before they rest on your hips.

“I think it’s really nice.” You hold in your excitement over how perfect the place is until he confirms that he feels the same way.

“Nice? It’s fucking perfect,” he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes hypnotizing you as his breath reaches yours lips. “It’d be a great for us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, us. Dodger and I…” he nods his eyes watching your expression carefully.

“Oh uh, yeah,” you answer, your gaze dropping to the floor.

Chris lets out a low chuckle and tilts your face up to his. “And you too, idiot.” The grin on his lips causes your heart to do backflips and you push onto your toes. “You’re just as much of my future as I am,” he assures as his nose bumps yours. His arms wrap around your back as your lips brush slowly, tenderly, and you feel the way he holds you to him, clinging to this moment of bliss. This promise of a future.

* * *

After two weekends spent together, you and Chris barely know how to stay apart. The stakes were still high, sure, but there was too much happening to be happy about. Chris had left the divorce papers for his wife to sign when he dropped Dodger back off at their house, and he was planning on signing a lease on the apartment he loved this week.

You two had a private celebratory dinner the Monday after the apartment showings, at your place of course, but after an evening of grading he was worn out and turned in early. You stayed up to write, but couldn’t stop yourself from getting distracted by how happy he looked in his sleep.

You were going to have a real future together.

Chris did his best not to disturb you the next morning, so it was no surprise when he snuck out without you even noticing.

But that left you longing to get him alone. You were so careful all the time, and for once you didn’t care if anyone saw.

“Chris, no one’s here,” you tease as you lean against the wall across from his office. His office hours just ended, and there’s only one light on in a grad student’s office at the end of the hallway.

“(Y/N),” he smirks. When he doesn’t reach out for you, you know he’s keeping his guard up.

“I missed you this morning,” you whine, and his eyes watch your face closely, catching on the pout of your bottom lip.

“I didn’t want to disrupt your beauty sleep.” He pulls his messenger bag higher on his shoulder before he reaches for the door knob.

“I would have forgiven you.” He locks his office door and heads toward the stairs, and you follow him closely. As he steps past the department doors you push yourself in front of him. “Supply closet?”

He hesitates as he takes you in, the way you’re biting your lip, tilting your head, and pushing your chest out. It only takes him a second to decide, and he reaches his hand out to you as he tilts his head toward the stairs. A grin settles on your lips and you let Chris guide you down the stairwell.

There’s more bounce in your step than usual, and as he leads you out of the building he drops his hand from yours. You cross your arms as you walk next to him, weaving by buildings and students walking back to their dorms from their classes. The sun’s began setting, warm tones of light painting the sky from behind stone buildings and slanted roofs.

As you get closer to the faculty parking lot Chris uses, you notice how the number of passing students dwindle. You nearly reach out for his hand again.

You two step onto the asphalt lot to discover it empty except for Chris’s car and a small SUV a few spaces away. Nerves have been building in your gut the entire time you were walking, but they calm the moment you reach his car.

Chris turns to you quickly, his hands finding your hips. He guides you backwards until you’re pressed against the side of his car. Pulling him toward you, you catch the fresh scent of his aftershave and melt into him. Slipping an arm around his neck, you use him for support and let him kiss you hungrily. His lips work quickly, meeting yours with enough force to leave yours swollen. You open up, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and his teeth carefully graze at your bottom lip.

Fingers dig into your flesh as you trail a hand down his back, settling it on his ass and then giving him a firm squeeze. He lets out a low moan, and his thumbs hook under your shirt. Lips travel to your jaw and you arch your body into his, wanting to be even closer.

“Chris,” you whisper as his teeth nibble on your neck. “Who does that SUV belong to?”

“It’s Sebastian’s,” he answers, not bothering to tear his mouth from your skin.

“Does he normally leave campus at this time?”

“No. He’s in a meeting until 7 on Tuesdays.”

You fish the keys out of Chris’s pocket, your fingers gently teasing his hardening cock through his slacks. He lets out a low moan against your neck, his teeth dragging over your skin. You manage to pry Chris’s mouth from you as you unlock his car and yank open the back door. Crawling into the vehicle, you throw your bag in the front seat and turn around. You see Chris follow your lead and he shuts the door behind him.

Although his windows aren’t fully tinted, they’re darker than yours, and the upholstery is smooth and in good condition. Chris’s fingers trail up your legs slowly, starting at your ankles and stopping at your thighs. A sharp grin takes over his features, and he remains still for moment as he watches you. Just as you begin to move toward him, his hands grip the bottom of your thighs and he quickly yanks you across the seat. A laugh rises from your throat as you wrap an arm around him and push yourself above him. His eyes watch you closely, his lips parting as he breathes shallowly, anticipating your next move.

Somehow, you get your jeans unbuttoned in the enclosed space and he helps you work them down your legs. As you push your pants past your ankles you slide a gentle hand along his thigh, teasingly getting closer to his hardened cock before pulling away again. You spread across his backseat, your stomach and hips flat against the car’s upholstery. Your legs bend up at the knee, giving you as much room as possible to work.

Biting your lip as you look up at him innocently, your fingers finally reach his dick. You palm him carefully through his jeans as you work to get them undone. Once his cock is free from his underwear, you grip his shaft firmly and brush your thumb under the head of his dick. His eyes squeeze shut as he lets out a small groan, and you apply more pressure. His head leans back against the window, his brows furrowed as he focuses on your touch.

You only let him concentrate on the sensation of your fingers for a moment before you add your tongue to the mix. The moan that leaves his lips as you lick the underside of his cock makes you even more aroused. Slowly, you take him into your mouth. You alternate between massaging him with your tongue and bobbing up and down, and his hand pushes your hair out of your face.

“Fuck,” he whispers when you look up at him, your tongue swirling around his tip. His teeth dig into his bottom lip so hard that you think he’ll draw blood. The hand in your hair guides you away from his cock, and you push up on your knees. He tugs up your shirt, his hands warming your skin where they touch you. You pull your shirt off as his fingers trace the edge of your underwear. Chris slips out of his jacket after you push your fingers beneath it, feeling his body inch closer to you in response to your touch. You loosen his tie as you stare down at him, watching the way his pupils dilate as they take you in.

He licks his lips as his fingers eagerly slip between your legs to find your wetness. “Is this all because of me?” You nod. The grin he rewards you with makes you want to launch yourself at him.

Chris moves so his back is against the seat instead of the door, and he pulls you over him, guiding your thighs so you’re straddling him. He leaves a trail of gentle kisses along your neck as his fingers push your underwear aside. When his thumb meets your clit you let out a small gasp. Your hand grips onto his forearm, trying to encourage him to keep going. His lips reach your chest as his eyes watch your face, taking in your every needy breath and moan. His fingers tease your entrance before they push inside you, slowly searching for your g-spot. The moment he finds it you let out a small moan, doing your best to keep it trapped in your throat.

As his fingers curl into you again, you jerk your hips toward his thumb, begging for more friction. Chris chuckles against your skin, his hot breath teasing goosebumps out of you as the temperature outside of the vehicle drops. Your fingers fan over his collarbones, trying to find something to cling to as you feel his thumb’s movement grow rougher.

Your nails dig into the upholstery behind him, his own fingers continuing to curl into your tightening muscles. You throw your head back, arching your body as your orgasm grows closer. “Right there, right there,” you whisper as your legs shake, your insides nearly quivering too. Chris places his free arm behind you, supporting your body as his teeth nip at your cleavage.

He adds a third finger to push you over the edge and your breathing races. Your core clenches around his fingers as you ride out your wave of pleasure, keeping his fingers locked inside you, right where you’ve been wanting him all day. His thumb only lightens it’s pressure on your clit when you lean forward again, panting for air. You bring your hands to the sides of his head, angling his face toward you.

“You ready?” he whispers as your fingers trace the edges of his lips. Your legs feel like jelly as you stare at his plump mouth, and you know he’s got you.

You give him a short nod as you meet his lust-blown eyes. He grins under your fingers and leans up to connect your mouths.

The kiss is slow and smoldering. Teeth and tongues brushing until your lungs cry for more air. You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t feel Chris’s arm wrap around your waist and fingers sink into your skin. He guides your hips, lowering you onto his cock. You sigh as you feel Chris bottom out, and his deep groan of pleasure vibrates against your chest.

You move first, barely shifting your pelvis up before sinking back down. His fingers twitch in response before they dig into your flesh, leaving bruises behind. You repeat your drawn out movements, and he moans against your lips, getting caught up in your torturously lazy pace. Warm fingers unhook your bra and find their way to your breasts, squeezing gently as you clench around his dick.

“Fuck… you,” he manages to whisper as you swivel your hips, his eyes rolling back in his head.

You grin victoriously, “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” He doesn’t seem to find your joke quite as amusing as you do, but you reward him by picking up the speed of your movements. Your fingers knot in Chris’s hair, pushing his head back against the seat as you change the angle of your hips slightly. The subtle shift pulls a whimper from you as the tip of his cock finds your g-spot. Chris watches your lips fall open and your eyes squeeze shut as your composure crumbles.

His hands find your hips, moving you faster, eager to draw more moans and whimpers from your mouth. The car rocks under you two, swaying every time your bodies meet. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, and he holds you against him tightly. Your clit makes contact with his body, bringing your orgasm nearer by the second.

Chris’s lips slide across your neck, finding your pulse point and sucking. Your nails scratch his shoulders, dragging on the material of his shirt as your head falls back. “Chris,” you moan, your legs shaking as your body tenses for your second orgasm.

“Uh huh,” he groans against your throat. His cock throbs inside you as his own release grows closer. “Let it out, baby.”

You moan his name one more time as you let go. His hands rock you against him as your muscles pulse around him, bringing him to climax with you. Whimpers escape your throat as your body trembles. It feels like static dances under you skin as your clutched against his warm body. Chris keeps your hips moving, milking every last second of your orgasms as he can.

When he stops moving he simply holds you against him, his cheek resting against your chest as you both gasp for air. Your fingers rub small circles against the nape of his neck as you feel his heart beating on your skin. 

The moment is perfect and peaceful. Just you two clinging to each other, never wanting to let each other go.

Eventually, you pull away from him, your skin growing cold. He reluctantly takes his hands from you and lets you roll off his lap. You reattach your bra and pull your shirt over your head while Chris sits still, his head pressed against the headrest.

Trying to lighten the mood, you chuckle, “We fogged up the windows.”

Your words pull him from his thoughts. “Uh, yeah.” You point to your jeans and he hands them to you, barely making eye contact.  

“Is everything alright?” you ask, worry sinking in.

“Yeah, I think-,” he hesitates, searching for the words. “I think I just realized something I hadn’t fully understood yet.”

“Babe,” you whisper as you reach out for him.

“There’s so much at stake here, and I don’t want to lose you.” His eyes lock with yours and there’s a shine to them that pulls at your heart.

“You’re not losing me.” You’re confused by his words and fear crawls up your spine.

“I know, but I could.”

“Chris, we’re doing amazing. You’re getting an apartment, a divorce, the semester is almost over. We’re so close to having it all work out.”

His gaze drops, “Jennifer won’t sign the papers.” 

Your mind races, trying to rationalize his wife’s actions.

“You can negotiate. Have your lawyers work out the details of the split. Her signing the papers immediately was just wishful thinking.” You work your jeans over your ankles.

“No, (Y/N). She doesn’t want a divorce. She wants to give our marriage another try.”

The words sit between you two, barely a whisper, as you try to understand what he’s saying.

“Whe-, when did she say that?”

“She left me a voicemail this afternoon.”

You want to push the fear out of your head. He’d reassured you of his love too much for him to just throw you away. “You’re going to tell her no, right?”

His eyes meet yours and his lips open, but no words come out.

“Chris, you’re leaving her. You said your marriage was over. That I was part of your future.”

“I meant it, you are. But I have to think about the last 5 years.”

“You mean the last 5 years you’ve spent with her.”

Heat rises in your chest and you desperately need to get out of this car. You reach for your shoes and Chris grabs your wrist, trying to keep you there.

“I love you, (Y/N). You know that.”

“Stop, Chris,” you practically growl, pulling your arm away from him. You push the car door open and pull your jeans up as you stand.

“I want to be with you, I really do. It’s just-,” you cut him off by slamming the door.

You pull open the front door quickly, and grab your bag. “It’s that your two months with me don’t mean anything compared to your years with her.” He starts to speak again but you shut the door before he gets the words out.

You walk toward campus, leaving the dark, empty parking lot and him, trying to put distance between you two.

“(Y/N),” he calls as he gets out to follow you.

“I said this exact thing would happen, didn’t I? That you’d leave me, go back to her?” you shout as you make it to the sidewalk. You turn on your heels to see him standing a few feet from his car, tears in his eyes. “Goddammit Chris, I didn’t want to be right.”

“I don’t know what to do. I love you and I want to be with you,” his voice cracks and your instincts nearly push you back to him.

“Then that should be all that matters.”

“I-, I have to think about all of this. There’s more happening here than a simple split, and she’ll fight me if I just say no.”

“Then fight. For me. For your happiness. Jesus, just figure out what you want Chris.”

He calls your name one more time, but you shake your head and turn away from him. And maybe what you thought your future would look like too. Your tears spill over and your fingers shake. Taking in deep breaths to stop your lungs from hyperventilating, you clench your hands into fists.

Sadness, anger, and regret weigh your bones down, slowing your pace and daring you to look back.

But you keep walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience guys! It's been a hectic couple months but the busy-ness will end in a few weeks (when I graduate). I really appreciate all the kind words you guys are leaving me in the comments and know that anytime I start second guessing myself and this story, you guys are what keep me going.


	9. Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning that Chris’s divorce might not happen, you’re left with a hurricane of emotions and uncertainty on how your relationship can survive.

After spending so much time with Chris, staying away from him felt like cutting off a part of yourself. He’d become a safety blanket for you as a writer, a way to focus your ideas and creative energy. He always knew how to give you the confidence boost you needed. And as your deadline for Robert grew closer, all your abilities and hope seemed to fade away.

You’d ended up skipping class that Thursday. Instead, you left the attendance sheets in Chris’s mailbox and stayed at home, tucked into bed with your laptop under your fingers. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape him.

Your sheets smelled like him, he’d left clothes all over your place. Even when you tried to fall asleep at night, it felt like his weight was still pressed against you, keeping you warm. But when you’d roll over, he wasn’t there.

No matter how badly your heart hurt and your body wanted to feel his fingers against your skin, you told yourself that this was better. Giving him time to figure out his shit was necessary.

But goddammit, you hated that nearly every waking thought of yours was about him. And it didn’t help that he’d been consistently leaving you voicemails and texts everyday. You did your best not to read or listen to them, but your resolve wasn’t that strong, and him pleading for you to come see him so he could apologize (again) in person, didn’t help you focus anymore either.

Your short story was due Sunday evening. And you had nothing. Your name in bold black letters and blank page after blank page.

Saturday night, you finally give in. If you can’t focus on anything else besides Chris, you might as well write about him.

As you bury yourself under a heavy blanket in the dark, the words seem to come to you. Your fingers type quickly, ghosting over keys and filling up the empty pages you’d been stressing about for weeks. All the things you wanted to say, the things you wanted to hear from him, they presented themselves to you, mapping out your own feelings for Chris.

You pour your heart out until 4 am, only stopping to go to the bathroom or get another glass of water. When you finally close your laptop, you already know the pages full of your emotional turmoil are probably not publishable, or even fully intelligible, but you tell yourself that when you wake up you’ll salvage what you can.

You roll onto your side, clutching a pillow against your body, and try to pretend that he’s having as hard of a time with all this as you are. That’s he’s lying awake, wishing he could bury his face in your hair and fall asleep with you. Your chest hurts, the same feeling of betrayal tugging on your heart, leaving your lungs ragged and your breathing labored. With its heavy presence, it tells you what you already fear.

That you’ve lost him.

But no, no, you hadn’t lost him.

Because he was never yours to lose.

* * *

You managed to turn your jotted map of feelings into something else. A letter from a character, written in a private moment. A letter that would be left for their partner if and when their relationship ended.

It read like a history of these two character’s relationship, detailing their most important moments and their least significant as well. Little things that made them what they were, big things that showed what they could be.

And the narration read as a mourning of their time together. That, while it was good and the writer wanted this to last forever, they also understood that other factors could affect their happiness. That their perfect pairing, the overwhelming feeling of belonging together, could be ended by something outside of these two.

Obligation. Uncertainty. Guilt. Unfinished business. History. Honor.

These things could get in their way. And the writer fully expected them to, why else would they be writing this out?

The piece ended with a heartbreaking lament, waxing on what the writer hoped would happen, that their happiness would last until their natural deaths, and that this letter was born out of a place of insecurity and fear. But the writer stated that they knew there was something else forcing them to pen this. That eventually, this letter would reach its destination.

And the last two sentences felt like salt in a wound: a warm thank you for the memories that were shared, and would still live in their mind. And a sorrowful goodbye.

* * *

Tuesday came sooner than you were prepared for.

You trudge through your morning routine and catch your fingers shaking when you need them still. Your teeth chew on your lips until they feel raw. Your heart pounds faster against your rib cage with every mile you drive toward campus.

As you park, an email notification lights up your phone. It’s from Robert. He finished your story and loved the format and the narration in the piece. He wants you to come to his office Thursday to break down the story in person.

Your nerves only falter for a moment, as you exhale a deep breath and feel the weight in your chest lighten for a second. So you hadn’t written a completely shitty story. That meant you still had time to prove you really did belong in the creative writing program.

Somehow, you manage to calm your nerves during your classes by focusing only on the subject being covered, and refusing to let your mind drift to the person it so desperately wanted to obsess about.

And as the time for your class nears, your stomach feels physically ill. It’s clearly just nerves, but every ounce of you is afraid to see him. Afraid of what he might have decided. Afraid that all your fears are right.

You beat him to class and take up your usual seat in the corner. Your heel taps against the floor as you stare at your phone, watching the time count down. The nausea continues to grow stronger in your stomach until Tom slides into the seat next you.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks as he pulls his laptop out of his bag.

You hesitate, your lips opening like you’re gonna respond, but you don’t know what to say. You weren’t sick and you hadn’t told anyone you were sick. But at the same time, you were sick with something that wasn’t illness related.

Tom watches you out of the corner of his eye, taking your silence as a reason to elaborate. “Prof. Evans said you weren’t in class because you’d come down with something. He extended his office hours since you couldn’t be at yours.” You nod, quickly recovering from your confusion. “Since the next paper is due this Thursday, I was planning on stopping by your hours last week, but I went to his instead.”

“Do you still need help?” you ask him, focusing on this sweet kid and not your internal conflict. “Because you can stop by my hours today.”

“I’m almost done with it, but I would really appreciate it if you would look it over,” he gives you the smallest smile, pleading with furrowed brows and puppy dog eyes.

You nod, “I look forward to reading it.” The grin Tom gives you warms some piece of you that’s been frozen for a week. You return his smile, knowing it’s the first time you’ve smiled in days, and your foot slows its tapping. Everything might just go back to the way it was.

As you’re about to give in to this little moment of bliss, you hear the students grow quieter, and you look past the young man in front of you.

The second you see him, your heart feels like it stops, like it can’t handle this moment. Your breathing slows as you watch him walk down the center aisle. His clothes are wrinkled and his beard looks scraggly. He moves quickly to the platform and keeps his eyes averted from his students.

You tell yourself to stay seated, going to him will make it obvious to everyone that you two are involved. He shuffles his papers out of his bag and you see how dark the circles around his eyes are, how large those bags have grown. He hasn’t been sleeping well without you, or maybe he just hasn’t been sleeping well without anyone, and it’s taking its toll on him.

He looks up at the class, his bloodshot eyes distracting from his forced smile as he says, “Today, we’re finishing up our unit on the Modern Era of British literature.”

You drop your gaze to your laptop and try to ignore Tom’s glance your way. The class goes on for another 20 minutes of you staring at the clock, ignoring how tired Chris sounds and how the class chuckles at his jokes. He’s discussing T.S. Eliot’s  _Four Quartets_  when you finally look up at him, needing to shift and stretch your muscles from your bent and hidden position.

Even with his exhaustion breaking through every facet of his appearance, he’s still teaching the class with enough enthusiasm to make his students forget all those things. He’s switching a slide on the projector, his voice carrying around the lecture hall with such smoothness, “Eliot’s focus on time and the humanity that exists in the world-”

His words drop off as his eyes meet yours for the first time in a week. The blue looks grayer, sadder, and his lips hang open for a moment as his tongue searches for words. You hold his gaze, your heart suddenly sinking in your chest, and you can’t move, can’t breathe.

Like time froze around you two as if you were part of the poetry he’s discussing. You’re not sure how long you two stay there, staring at each other. You can only feel your emotions arresting you. Hope bubbling up, telling you he looks like shit because he’s  _not_  with you. Fear pinning you down, telling you this is really over. And that maybe it needs to be. Pride warming your cheeks, since you have this power over him, making him lose his train of thought mid sentence. Panic screaming at you to look away, echoing around your skull that this is not the time or place to hash out your relationship. And unease whispering that this is it, this is your last shared moment, your last silent exchange.

Eventually, someone’s pen clicks and Chris gulps, blinking as he turns back to the class, “-is both timeless and also timely, as World War II began while he was working on the last two poems.”

You drop your focus back to the desk, grounding yourself in your seat. The muscles in your body tense as your mind seeks an escape, your brain telling you that you shouldn’t have come today. Knuckles turn white as you clench the edge of the chair, anchoring your body, forcing yourself to stay.

When you glance away from the faux wood grain of the desk, Tom’s watching you with wide eyes. Concern radiating from him as he instinctively leans toward you.

You force a tight lipped smile and shake your head.

There’s no need for him to worry about you when you’re already filled with enough frustration and anxiety for the both of you.

* * *

You hide in your office after class, praying no students will show up after that awkward moment in the middle of the lecture. Every time someone walks past the tiny window in your door, your breath catches in your throat. Fortunately, no one shows up in person, so you catch up on the attendance points you haven’t graded from last week and work on the assignment instructions for the final.

The computer says you have 15 minutes left of your office hours. You know Tom has a class during the first hour and a half of your office hours, so he normally doesn’t show up until your day is almost over.

As you check your email one more time, you hear a knock come from your door. Your body goes rigid as you look up to find who it is.

Chris pushes your door open, peeking his head in before he fully steps into your space. You force yourself to swallow and straighten your back, try to camouflage your racing thoughts and your body’s immediate response to his presence.

He stays quiet until he locks the door behind himself, and you start to tell him that Tom planned to stop by, but the way he looks at you kills the words in your throat. He moves quickly, pushing himself forward and onto his knees as his hands turn your chair to face him.

His eyes are so big and pained, openly displaying his suffering. His fingers rest on your knees as his lips finally move, “I miss you so much.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” you answer, trying to keep your cool exterior, but inside your broken pieces are trembling in your gut.

“You’re more important than a poetry discussion.” Your heartbeat speeds and you swear those words would have made your knees weak a week ago.

You swallow your urge to grip his hands in your own. Ignore your need to lean towards his tragically beautiful face. You can’t give in that easily now, especially since he hasn’t told you where his marriage stands.

“Chris…” his name slips past your lips quietly, like if you say it any louder you’ll break his moment of begging. And if things weren’t as strained as they are, you’d be relishing in his pleading. “I can’t do this. I can’t be with you if I don’t know where you really stand.”

He exhales, his fingers actually twitching against your skin. “And I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how to keep sleeping here, keep pretending everything’s okay. I know this has been an intense few months, but I didn’t think being without you would be this hard. It was never like this with Jennifer.”

You know that’s not a clear answer, but you give in a little, letting your shoulders hunch as you lean closer to him. “I love you, but I can’t be your fall back.”

“I’m-, I’m not asking you to.”

“So then you’ve made a decision?”

He gathers your hands in his, his thick lashed eyes staring into yours, “I know more now than I did before and this week without you has been torture. I know I can’t be happy without you in my life. And I don’t want to have to live without you.”

“Tell me.” Warmth builds behind your eyes as your vision becomes cloudy, as tears fight to take you over.

His tears beat yours, slowly sliding down his cheeks and catching in his beard as he let out a ragged breath. “She can take so much from me if I fight her. She found out about us, and I’m afraid of what she’ll do.”

“I shouldn’t have to be your second choice,” your voice breaks as your own tears burn against your skin. “You two weren’t happy, and that should be enough. I don’t care what she does to us.”

“But I do. She’ll be mad at me. She’ll take her anger out on me, but I care about what she does to you. How she’ll drag your name through the mud, tell the school.”

“Do you think she’d really do that, Chris?” Your fingers slide up his beard, wiping at his tears. “She’s the one who asked for the separation. She’s the one who was ready to call it quits.”

“She was, but when I last talked to her,” he closes his eyes as he rests his head in your hands, his forehead dipping forward. “She acted so differently. She brought up having a family, having the future we always wanted.”

“A family isn’t going to fix your marriage,” his eyes meet yours and you instinctively lean toward him.

“I do really want kids.”

“Yes, but your unhappiness will just be distracted by children. And kids deserve to grow up in a happy environment.”

Chris pushes himself up, his face coming mere inches from yours. “You’re right.” His hands cradle your jaw and his thumbs trail across your cheeks and lips, taking in the face he’d missed so much. “I might have wanted that with her 2 years ago, but I don’t anymore. I want what I have with you, now.”

The words push more tears over, happy tears this time. And his lips find yours. You cling to him, taking in his taste, his breath, holding onto the warmth of his skin. His fingers brush your neck, yours knot in his hair, keeping him pressed against you. Your body feels alive for the first time in a week, and your legs push you out of your chair.

He stands up with you, his hands trailing down your spine as his tongue traces the seam of your lips. You nearly moan from the contact alone. Wrapping your arms around his neck, he guides you onto your desk.

You know it’s wrong. You can’t be doing this now, here. Anyone could see you two, you both could lose your positions at the university.

But you have him back. And it feels so good.

Your laptop gets tucked in a drawer as Chris pulls away from your lips. “The last week was torture without you. I never want to feel like that again.”

A smile tugs at your mouth and you push Chris’s suit jacket off his shoulders. “As long as we’re together, neither of us will have to feel like that.”

He rests his forehead against yours, slowing your attempt at getting his clothes off. “I need you to know you’re the only person I want a future with.”

Tears threaten to escape from your eyes again and your lips tremble. Instead, you crush his lips with your own and undo his belt. His hands unbutton your pants, and you pull back from your fervent kisses only to wiggle them off your legs.

Chris’s fingers trace circles on your thighs, slowly dancing closer to your core. His lips leave yours to trail gentle kisses down your neck, and you try not to laugh as his beard tickles your skin. You rake your nails over the back of his shirt, wanting to rip it off of him.

He kneels in front of you, his fingers pushing your underwear aside. His hot breath fans over your wetness as his eyes lock with yours. He licks a painfully languid stripe across your folds that almost sends your eyes rolling back in your head. But you keep watching him, reveling in how his face looks between your thighs.

As his tongue finds your clit, a small whimper escapes your lips. He grins up at you, relishing in the needy sounds you always make. His beard scratches the inside of your legs as his mouth teases a moan out of you. This time you can’t stop your eyes from rolling back in your head. Your back arches as your hands slide into his hair.

Your legs start to shake and you feel your orgasm building, but you want him closer to you. You need to feel him. Your fingers tug on his roots to get his attention but it causes him to moan against you. Your breath hitches, but you work your hands to the sides of his head and try to angle his head upward.

After a moment, he realizes what you’re doing and looks up at you.

“Chris,” you start, already feeling your muscles clench around nothing. You aren’t going to last much longer. He pulls back, his wet lips panting. “I need you inside me.”

He pushes himself up and you tug his pants off his hips. You line his cock up with your entrance as you stare up at him. He grips the underside of your knees, wrapping your legs around him. You keep watching his face, waiting for him to push into you. A hand finds your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek, and he leans toward you.

“I love you,” he whispers, mouth hovering above your own. You rest your head in his hand and close your eyes. Savoring the scent of his skin, the warmth of his body, the way his lips trace yours. Trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

He pushes inside you sharply and your muscles tighten around him, your toes curling as your legs lock, keeping him in place. His groan vibrates against your skin, and your arms wrap over his shoulders, using him as support.

You let him have control now, letting him thrust into you at his own pace. Clinging onto him like he’s the only thing that matters.

Because for right now, he is.

* * *

Chris doesn’t spend Tuesday or Wednesday night with you, but you do text him and see him in passing. He does his best to calm your nerves about the story you wrote, telling you that Robert wouldn’t lie to you about liking it. You don’t let Chris read the story though. He doesn’t need to see your anxious ramblings on your relationship.

You make it through the lecture on Thursday without anymore awkward pauses tipping off the entire class that you two are involved, but Tom barely says hi to you. You try to talk to him, but he just shrugs or gives you one word answers. You write it off as him having a bad day, and instead try to quell the nerves making your stomach upset.

No one shows up to your office hours, which only allows your anxiety to grow even stronger, but the moment before you walk into Robert’s office, you get a text from Chris:  _You’re going to do great. He loves you almost as much as I do._

You take a deep breath, letting Chris’s words calm you. You’ve got this. Things will be fine.

You push into Robert’s office with your head held high. He greets you with one of his signature smiles, charming and fun-loving, yet somehow still professional. “(Y/N)! It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to talk, have a seat!”

You drop your bag next to the ornate wood and leather chair that sits opposite of his huge desk.

“How have you been, Robert?” you ask as you clench your hands together in your lap.

“I’ve been great, but I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving break. Susan and I always go back to Illinois to see her family. Are you going home this year?”

“I was planning on staying here this break, working on things.”

“Ah, of course. Finals are coming up and there’s always grading to do.” You nod and look down, realizing your knuckles are turning white from strain. You flex them, try to shake them out so he won’t notice your stress. “So how are you doing?”

“I’m okay, just been a little stressed. Worried about whether my story was any good,” you answer and give him a weak smile.

“Oh, you have nothing to worry about. I think with a couple edits, it’s definitely going to end up in a publication.”

“Really?” you ask, a smile breaking across your face.

“Yes, really. You’re a great writer (Y/N).” He turns his chair to face you directly, his elbows resting on his desk as he leans toward you.

You let out a sigh of relief. It turned out okay. Everything was going to be fine.

You reach down to your bag, pulling out a notebook to take notes on, “Thank you, Robert. It really does mean a lot. What edits do you think would make it better?”

“I’ll get to that, but there’s something we need talk about first.”

You stop writing to look up at him, your eyes growing wide. “What is it?” He stays silent for a moment, his eyes watching you closely. You're vaguely aware that you’re not breathing.

“Your relationship with Chris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind words and support!!! I have no clue when the next update will be, but we've got 4 more chapters to go in this story!


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